Avalanche
by coldfury1
Summary: It took only a moment for Dean to disappear and be swept away by the fury of the avalanche. Now with time running out, Sam turns to the help of strangers to find him before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

_Although I have been writing for a while now, this is my first attempt at writing for Supernatural, so please be kind. Hopefully, I get the relationship between Sam and Dean right. Thanks for reading, and i suppose I should throw in a shameless plug for reviews as they would be really appreciated. Seth _

_Avalanche_

Harvey Garrett settled into his worn leather chair, pushed back the seat, and flipped through several weather reports in preparation for the controlled avalanche planned for the following day. With a scrub of a hand across his stubbled jaw, he studied the map of the Mountain's _hot zones _as he liked to refer to them as, and frowned. He'd been concerned about the east peak of Bear Mountain for sometime. He'd been out to the ridge the day before, and noticed cracks in the cornice, but strong winds and snow had deterred the setting of explosives for a controlled slide.

As he poured over the maps and other reports, he shook his head in aggravation. _It's gotta come down tomorrow. _"Hank," he called out to his longtime friend and co-worker, "what are the chances that we can get a copter up there tomorrow morning?"

Hank brushed a hand through his thick, dark hair as he glanced out the window panes. He turned to look at Harvey, the concern in his deep blue eyes evident, and gave a curt shake of his head. "Unless the winds die down a bit, Chief, I'm thinkin' slim to none."

"That's what I was afraid of." Harvey heaved a weary sigh, throwing the reports on his desk. "She's gonna come down soon, an' I'd much rather it be because of us than some unsuspecting skiers."

"So you're suggesting we foot it up to the crest, an' set it off ourselves?" A glint of eagerness and determination lit across the younger man's face, and Harvey had to smile despite of the direness of the situation. Hank had been with the Colorado Search and Rescue team for well over seven years, and still loved the rush of heart pumping adrenaline the job offered.

"I think it's our only – " Harvey's words abruptly died away as the ranger's station door whipped open, and smacked hard against the wall.

"M-my brother," the unexpected intruder gasped, struggling to draw in a breath. Blood seeped from a deep gash on his forehead, dripping from his drenched, shaggy bangs, to snake a trail down his face. Another cut slashed across his cheekbone, and from what Harvey could tell, the taller man more than likely had sustained several other injuries as well. He held his right arm protectively to his chest as he drew in another shaky breath. "Y-you – you have to help him."

"Son, calm down and tell me what happened," Harvey said, standing and stepping around his desk, he motioned for the frightened man to take a seat. "Hank, blankets," he ordered, never taking his sights of the injured man, and Hank quickly set to doing as he was told.

"C-can't sit. M-my brother – D-Dean . . . ." his voice died away as he looked fearfully toward the door. Teeth chattering loudly, he trembled as he refocused his attention on Harvey. His drenched clothing clung to his muscular frame, brown coat blood stained torn to shreds, but he didn't even seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. He gripped hold of Harvey's flannel shirt, forcefully yanked him forward so they standing toe to toe, and looked him square in the eyes. "You have to help me find him."

"I will, but you have to tell me what happened first."

"Dunno wh-what happened." Tears filled the younger man's hazel eyes, and he hastily brushed them aside. Drawing in another staggered breath, his hold on Harvey's shirt tightened. "There was this strange rumbling sound, an' the ground started trembling. He – he pushed me out of the way – an' then everything went white."

"Sonuva – " Gut clenching, Harvey peered out the window toward the mountain. "Hank!" he hollered, and within a moment the younger rescuer appeared from the back room with several blankets in hand. "Get yer gear together, she collapsed, an' she brought someone down with her."

"Shit. How long ago?" Hank glanced at his wristwatch, and immediately began gathering their rescue packs.

Harvey turned questioning eyes to the young man, careful not to show concern over the time frame they were working against to save his brother. "About how long ago, son?"

"It was about a half an hour ago."

Harvey and Hank exchanged knowing glances, but neither spoke a word of their fears. If the younger man's brother had been buried alive by the snow, his chances of survival at this point were extremely slim, and were fading to non-existent as the moments cruelly ticked by. "What's your name?" he asked, placing a hand on the man's shoulder in a comforting manner.

"It's Sam – Sam Winchester."

"Alright, Sam, I'm gonna need the location of where you last saw your brother." Harvey broke free of Sam's hold on him, and strode to the coat rack. "Hank, get the dogs ready," he ordered, although he knew it wasn't necessary as the younger man was already heading toward the door with gear in hand. "I need that information, Sam," he snapped, when the frightened man failed to respond to his question.

"We were on the east side of the mountain, about three-quarters of the way up it," Sam supplied, following Harvey as he strode to the door. "Lost sight of him halfway down, near an outcropping of pine trees."

With one hand on the doorknob, Harvey held up the other hand to stop Sam from following. "I'm gonna radio for an ambulance to take you to County General."

"No, I'm going with you," Sam uttered with a determined set of his jaw, and a firm shake of his head. "My brother's out there somewhere, an' he's fighting to stay alive for me. An' I'll be damned if the first person he sees when he's found is a stranger who doesn't know the first thing about him."

Harvey's stomach tightened into knots, vast experience reminding him that this was more than likely going to turn into a body recovery and not a rescue. Ninety to a hundred and thirty minutes was the very narrow doorway of time in which they had to find and extract Sam's brother, and at least a half hour of that was already gone. _I don't have time to argue with him over this. But, if I were him I'd feel the same way. _"Alright," he motioned to the closet off to the right, "get some dry clothes on an' meet us outside in three minutes or we're leavin' without ya. Understand?"

"I'll be there," Sam said determinedly, turning his back on Harvey and shrugging out of his soaked jacket.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean eyes flitted open as an icy breeze blew across his head. He struggled to draw in a shaky breath, but found it virtually impossible to fill his lungs with air, and in a moment of delirium he wondered if an elephant had somehow landed on him, and was crushing his lower extremities. His hands were cupped around his mouth and nose, elbows bent and pressed firmly against his chest.

His left leg was bent at an awkward angle, pinned beneath the right one along with whatever weight was piled on top of him. Odd tingling sensations, spiraled from the toes on his right leg all the way up to his thigh, but his left leg felt strangely numb and detached.

Droplets of chilled water dripped from overhead onto his forehead, trailed down his cheeks and slipped beneath the collar of his leather jacket. Inky blackness met his gaze as he tilted his head back and rolled his eyes to look behind him. More cold air blasted through a narrow opening, and he breathed in as deeply as he possibly could manage. His nostrils and lungs burned and stung with the effort, but at least he knew he was alive, and as long as he could breathe, there was a chance Sam would find him.

_Oh, God – Sonuva – Shit. Shit. Shit. _Panic took a firm hold on Dean, and he writhed and squirmed against the tight confines. Clumps of snow dislodged from overheard, splattering down on his face and neck. He froze; fear now giving way to pure survival instinct. _Sam' s out there somewhere, and he's looking for me – Sammy ._

The last time Dean had seen his little brother, he had pushed Sam out of the way just before an ocean of snow collided into him, sending him crashing down the mountainside. For as weird as it sounded, he remembered trying to swim with the current of icy snow, and for a while had managed to keep his head above the torrent. He grimaced, recalling how the bone in his leg snapped grotesquely when it struck into some immovable force, and he was dragged under and carried the rest of the way down the slope.

Running his tongue along his cracked lips, he swallowed down the familiar metallic taste of blood. But whether the taste was coming from his lips, bloody nose, the gash seeping from below his right eye, or some injury he would rather not think about at the moment, he couldn't be certain. _I'm so screwed. _

A chilled breeze blasted through the opening, carrying fat, icy flakes into the frozen meat locker that served as his tomb. His shallow breaths left him in white billowy plumes, escaping through the narrow shaft above his head. More snow drifted through the gap, and slowly began to fill in Dean's only lifeline.

_Sammy's coming for me – He's gonna get me out of this, I've just gotta wait this out. _That thought managed to calm Dean's growing anxiety for a mere two blissful seconds. _Like hell I'm waiting, I gotta get outta here – now! _

"Sammy!" he hollered over and over again, squirming against the packed snow. Clumps of snow broke loose from the ceiling and dropped down on his face, filling his mouth and nose, momentarily making it impossible to breathe. Coughing hard, he shook his head from side to side, clearing away the icy moisture from his face. _Okay, so definitely not a good idea to move. But what if Sam can't find me? _

"Not gonna even go there – he's gonna find me." _But what if he's trapped beneath the snow, too? What if he's . . . . _"No, Sammy's okay – he's looking for me, an' I jus' gotta wait."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the reviews, I was simply floored by the great response for the first chapter. The story will probably move fairly quickly due to the time constraints of being trapped alive in the snow. Hopefully I will be able to portray this accurately enough. Reviews are like my girlfriend, i need 'em to survive...so send a dyin' man some love. Seth

_Chapter Two_

Harvey had just finished packing up the snowmobiles, when Sam exited the ranger's station. He eyed Hank, noticed the shrug and look of regret from his fellow rescuer before he turned his attention to the younger man. "I've got five guys out on the mountain patrolling. Hank radioed ahead an' they're gonna meet us there."

With his sights trained on the mountain, Sam gave a nod of understanding, but remained silent. Harvey noted the stagger in the taller man's gait as he walked to the snowmobile, and mentally kicked himself for agreeing to let him come along. Although Sam was the only person who had witnessed the avalanche, and had the best idea of where his brother had disappeared, Harvey was fairly certain he knew what pine trees the injured man had referred to earlier. He'd trekked through Bear Mountain with his father since he was nine years old, and besides Hank, there probably was no one who knew it better than him.

"Frank an' Joe have already headed up there in the jeep with the dogs an' medical gear," Harvey continued, although he doubted Sam even heard a word he had spoken. "You can ride with Hank." Handing Sam a helmet, he gestured a gloved hand toward his partner. "He knows these mountains better than just about anyone, an' I guarantee he won't come down from there until he finds yer brother."

"Thanks," Sam murmured as he slid onto the seat behind Hank, and put on the helmet.

"Hang on, Sam," Hank called back over his shoulder, shifting his snow goggles down over his eyes. "We're gonna get your brother outta there." The younger rescuer let off on the clutch, gave the engine some gas, and took off like a shot through the snow.

Harvey followed, picking up speed to bypass them, the snowmobile's tracks sliding effortlessly through the snow. His mind raced ahead to what he would find at the avalanche site, mentally preparing his strategy for finding Sam's brother. _Ninety minutes, ten men, two dogs and a half a mountainside to search. _Picking up speed, he flew over a bump, and continued onward. _There's not enough of us to go it shoulder to shoulder, but a zig-zag pattern could leave a lot of unchecked territory. _

Fresh snowfall pelted his face, and ground beneath the tracks of the sled as he skirted the avalanche area, and raced up through the tree line on the right hand side of the mountain. A quick glance over his shoulder, told him that Hank and Sam were still behind him as he skillfully maneuvered around the tall pines. Letting up on the throttle, he slowed as he came to a grouping of trees, and carefully steered around them before picking up speed again. In the distance, he could make out the large pines jutting directly out into the pathway of the avalanche, and turned toward them.

Within a matter of moments, he pulled alongside the avalanche area, and killed the engine. Hank maneuvered his sled up beside Harvey and came to a stop. The younger rescuer grabbed his gear, and made a beeline for the pines with Sam and Harvey following close behind. Harvey picked up his pace, and laid a firm hand on Hank's shoulder, halting him from going any further.

"Hank, I know you wanna find him, but we're a team an' this is a group effort."

Hank pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, glanced at his wristwatch, and shook his head. "Fuck the group effort crap, Chief." Pulling Harvey out of earshot of Sam, he lowered his voice and hissed, "You know as well as me that his time frame is totally screwed." He jabbed a finger back toward the ranger's station. "There was no way in hell that kid made it to us within a half hour of that mountain coming down, an' you know it."

"Damn it, I know that," Harvey's voice rose in anger and frustration, but with a glance over his shoulder at Sam, he lowered it and leaned closer to Hank. "But that doesn't mean we screw all our training an' just run down the slope half-cocked cause we'll miss him for sure."

"Best case scenario, we've got about thirty minutes to find him and dig him out before he dies from hypothermia, shock or suffocation," Hank argued, grabbing the probe out of his pack, and assembled the collapsible tubing as he spoke. "So we zig-zag it down the hill, each man five to seven feet apart, an' just pray that the dogs pick up his scent before it's too late." From his pack, he retrieved a second probe, latched it together, and motioned for Sam to join them. "Sam, this is a search probe," he demonstrated poking the pointed tip into the snow packed ground, "It'll find solid objects buried under the snow – it'll find your brother. Understand me?" When Sam gave a nod, he continued, "We spread out an' make a zig-zag pattern down the mountain. We move quickly, but carefully," he cautioned in a stern, commanding tone. "The ground is unstable, so there's risk of setting off a secondary slide."

Harvey watched Sam closely as Hank explained how they were going to find and extricate his brother, noted how the younger man had trouble staying focused, and weaved in his steps as he practiced using the probe. At the very least, Sam had a concussion, how severe Harvey wasn't certain, but what really terrified him was the injuries he knew the hazel-eyed man was purposely hiding from them. Sam's arm, still hung protectively close to his chest, cradling it, and Harvey's eyes widened considerably when he spied splotches of crimson seeping through the bright orange rescuer jacket he had borrowed.

Yanking his hand-held radio out of his pocket, he pressed the button to call for an ambulance, not willing to risk one man's life for that of another. "Gloria," he called over the walkie-talkie, and within a few moments a familiar feminine voice responded from the command center.

"Yeah, Chief."

"Is the Medivac copter en route?" He released his hold on the call button, and keeping his sights on Sam, he waited for her reply.

"ETA fifteen minutes," came Gloria's voice over the hand-held radio. "They're gonna be forced to set down here due to high winds coming off the mountain."

"Alright. I figured as much. Make sure Carl is waiting for us at the bottom. I want him on that copter as quickly as possible after extrication."

Studying the blood stains on Sam's jacket more closely, he came to a decision. "Gloria, I'm gonna need you to send an ambulance up to the east ridge. One man injured, full extend of injuries unknown." He hesitated a moment, locking eyes with Sam and saw the dangerous glint in their hazel depths. He clicked the button again, his steady gaze never leaving the younger man. "Head injury, possible concussion, possible internal injuries."

Sam's hand snaked out, and faster than Harvey would have thought possible, he snatched the walkie-talkie out of his hand, and heaved it into the trees. "Not going anywhere without my brother."

Harvey opened his mouth to argue, but at the sound of more snowmobiles approaching he snapped his mouth shut, and turned his attention to his fellow rescuers. "One man down, approximately forty minutes under," he rattled off, eying each of the five men in turn, and shook his head when any looked as if they might speak. "Last known sighting of him was before these pines, so spread out, five to seven feet apart, an' zig-zag your way down the slope."

At the sound of dogs barking, Harvey spied Frank and Joe working their way through the trees on the opposite side of the mountain, and breathed a sigh of relief. Sam's brother's best hope for survival rested with the rescue canines. "Frank let 'em off their leashes," he shouted, and the older man immediately set to doing as he'd asked.

As soon as they were released, the two German Shepards bound through the snow toward Harvey. Crouching beside them, he scratched the older of the two behind the ear, looked him in the eyes, and said, "Hunter, you ready to go to work? Search Hunter. Find Dean," and the dog sniffed the air a moment before he took off in a zig-zag pattern down the slope.

He then repeated the same routine with the other Shepard. "Thor, you ready to go to work?" The dog yelped excitedly, wagging its tail in response to the suggestion, "Search Thor. Find Dean." The second dog ran off, following the same pattern as Hunter down the mountainside. "Alright, everyone, fan out an' follow the dogs," he ordered to the rescuers, and with search probes in hand, they hastily complied. "I don't think I need to remind you that we're running out of time, so move quickly and carefully, while keeping your eyes an' ears open."

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

"I'll be there for you, these five words I swear to you. When you breathe I to be the air for you, I'll be there for you," Dean rasped out the Bon Jovi tune through chattering teeth, and grimaced at both the lyrics that somehow got stuck in his head, and the raw, burning sensation in the back of his throat._ I'm trapped under a mountain of snow an' I'm singin' Bon Jovi tunes, I'm either dead or delirious. _

At first, Dean hadn't really felt the cold, which was odd since he was packed in like a side of frozen beef. But after a short while, the dampness crept in all around him, icy snow seeping through the layers of his clothing to sting his flesh. Luckily, he had worn his leather jacket which was water-proofed and afforded him some protection, but did little in the way of sheltering him from the frigid temperature inside the tomb. "At least I thought to put on two extra pairs of socks and long-johns," he mused aloud, and chuckled at his own brilliance, although he was fairly certain it was never a good sign that he could no longer feel his toes.

He cupped his hands around his face and nose, and blew on them in an effort to keep them warm and hopefully to avoid frostbite. Shivering more violently, he redoubled his efforts, trying to rub his hands together, but his fingers felt thick and useless. _I wanted to go to Florida, soak up a little sun, but oh, nooo . . . I listened to geekboy. Have to hunt the Wendigo, he says. Have to track it's sorry ass all the way up the mountainside, and shoot the damn thing right beneath a ledge of snow that's just itching to come down. _"I'm so kicking his ass when I get out of here."

Dean squirmed, trying to wiggle his toes and legs, not sure if he had actually managed to make them move, but felt better for having given it a shot. "Nobody's gonna be cuttin' off my toes," he muttered over and over again under his breath, as he recalled hearing stories of people losing their toes to frostbite. He held up his hands to his face, and tried unsuccessfully to bend his fingers at the knuckles."I'm a hunter, an' nobody's cuttin' off anything on me."


	3. Chapter 3

I know this is a short chapter, but my girlfriend told me if I didn't spend sometime with her today, I'd be spending the night alone as well. I really don't like spending the night alone, so a short chapter it is. Thanks for reading and for the exxxcellent reviews. Please keep 'em coming. Seth

_Chapter Three _

On shaky legs, Sam trudged down the mountainside, following the same zig-zag pattern he'd witnessed the other rescuers doing, while prodding at the thick snow with the probe Hank gave him. His vision swam and blurred, black spots playing before his eyes, but he refused to give in to the darkness that beckoned him back into its comforting embrace.

Although he was shivering, teeth chattering loudly, a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, and slid down his back. Gingerly pressing his fingertips against the wide bandage he had covered his head wound with while in the ranger's station, he felt blood ooze out from beneath it to coat his fingertips. More blood seeped out and dripped down into his eyes to mingle with his unshed tears. _He's missing because of me – he could be dead because of me. _The memory of the last time he had seen Dean flooded his mind, and his tears began to fall in earnest.

"_Dean! Behind you!" Sam shouted, "Duck!" _

_Dean dropped to the ground, and Sam fired the flare gun at the Wendigo. The hideous creature stumbled forward, gripping hold of its chest, flames licking at its fingers. Within moments it crumpled to the ground in a fiery heap, steamy mist rising from the snow that surrounded the beast. _

"_Nice shot, Sammy." Dean smiled, getting to his feet. Yanking off his gloves, he stuffed them in his pockets, cupped his hands together and blew on them. "But next time I suggest Florida – we're going to Florida."_

"_Hey, I bought you snow pants, it's not my fault you chose not to wear them."_

"_I don't see you wearing snow pants, little brother," Dean countered smoothly, although he had been the one to argue that if they wore them they would never be able to outrun the Wendigo in the snow. "Let's get off this damn mountain, an' go an' – " _

_Dean's words abruptly died on his lips as the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. Deep rumbling coming from behind them, and the sound of cracking trees had both boys spinning on their heels; their eyes widening in horror seeing a wall of crashing white speeding toward them. _

_Frozen to his spot, Sam gaped in terrified awe at the fury of the raging snow, virtual rapids swallowing up everything in their path, and spitting out lifeless carcasses of what used to be trees and shrubs. Rocks and boulders churned and tumbled, popping up into the air like salmon swimming against the strong current. _

"_Sammy!" Dean shouted above the din, forcefully pushing Sam as far away from the center of the onslaught as he possibly could before a ferocious wave of snow crashed down upon him, dragging him under and carrying him away. _

_Sam lurched forward, the torrent pushing hard against the back of his legs until they collapsed, and he was ripped from his spot and carried down the slope at breakneck speed. Through blurred vision, he spotted Dean, struggling to keep his head above the snow. Then in a blink of an eye, he was gone, washed away, drowned in a vast sea of swirling, endless white. _

_A scream ripped from Sam's lips as something pierced the side of his chest, momentarily stalling his movement down the mountainside as the dagger sharp object lodged in deep. With a loud snap, he was tumbling down the hill again. His head collided into some immovable object, and the wall of white rapidly faded to the inky blackness of unconsciousness. _

Wiping away his tears, Sam picked up his pace, but stopped short after only a few seconds, and drew in a shuddering breath. He squeezed his eyelids shut and hunched over, panting and gasping for air. Sharp pain ripped through his chest, blood leaking from beneath the jagged piece of pine wedged firmly into his side. At the very least he had broken a few ribs, at the most – well, he didn't want to consider the worst at the moment. _I can do this._ _Dean needs me._

With determination fueled solely from years of burying the pain to get the job done, Sam straightened to the best of his ability and stumbled onward. He could feel the weight of Harvey's eyes on him, but refused to look in the older man's direction. It was bad enough that the rescuer already suspected he was badly injured, Sam wasn't about to give him any more reason to think he was unfit to be a part of the search for Dean.

Eyes trained on the daunting task ahead, Sam poked the collapsible probe into the thick snow, then sidestepped to the right to repeat the motion. Each grueling downward step sent jarring pain coursing through his body. Stomach heaving in violent protest, he hastily dropped the probe and cupped hold of his mouth. Gagging, he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. The distinct metallic taste of blood coated his teeth and tongue, but he did his best to ignore the possibility of what that meant.

"Find Dean, get him to a hospital and then collapse." Those words played over and over again in his mind as he bent to retrieve the probe from the ground. All at once, everything shifted off kilter, his balance leaving him as quickly as the rush of air that burst from his lips as he slipped on the snow and tumbled down the slick slope, careening straight toward a steep ledge.

Within a heartbeat, Hank was at his side, gripping a hold of his jacket, and jerking backward to halt him from falling any further. "I gotcha, just don't move," he uttered in a breathless rush, taking a firmer hold on Sam's coat. They slid several more feet, Hank grinding his boots into the snow to slow their descent, and finally came to a halt within mere inches of the ledge. "Don't move, Sam," he ordered, hearing the ground crack beneath them, "Just stay completely – " His words abruptly turned into a horrific scream as the ledge gave way.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

"Dean, on your feet, we've got work to do." Dean heard his father bark out the order, and his eyelids fluttered open.

"D-Dad?" Dean murmured in a hoarse, raspy whisper, trying to locate his father in the darkened abyss. "N-Not feelin' s-so – "

"I told you to watch out for your little brother," his father's tone turned condemning, hardened to the point of being cruel. "It was your job to keep him safe – it was the one job I gave you to do, an' you screwed it up."

"S'mm . . . ." he slurred, momentarily grasping onto the mental image of his little brother before it slipped away and was lost.

"Where is he, Dean?" He ground out each word, clear disappointment evident in every stressed syllable, and Dean was almost thankful he couldn't see his father's face. "What the hell were you thinking to just leave him alone like this? He could be hurt or dead for all you know."

Dean tried to form the words on his lips to say he was sorry, but his mind as deadened and numb as the rest of his body refused to allow him to utter the apology. He no longer shivered. No longer felt the icy sting of air against his skin. His breath came in shallow, staggered pants, chest barely rising with the effort. If his father was still talking to him, or if he was even real, Dean wasn't sure anymore, nor could he bring himself to care.

"S'mmmy . . . ." he silently mouthed, and closing his eyes, he gave himself up to blissful darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

I know things are looking bad for Sam and Dean, how could they not, but I swear this is not a deathfic. Thanks for reading. Seth

_Chapter Four _

Harvey's breath lodged in his throat as he watched Hank and Sam disappear from his sights, the ledge giving way beneath them. Thor now sensing new victims, darted through the snow, yelping wildly, his original goal forgotten as he raced to get to the fallen men. Harvey could hardly blame the younger dog for his enthusiasm. Unlike normal tracking dogs who sniffed an article of clothing belonging to the victim, Thor and Hunter searched for human scent rising to the surface of the snow. In instances of multiple victims this usually worked to their advantage, but with time quickly running out for Dean the ledge collapsing on the two rescuers more than likely was the final nail in his frozen coffin.

"Keep looking!" he shouted to his men as he bolted toward Hank and Sam, heavy snow crunching beneath his feet. "Search Hunter," he commanded, noticing the older of the two canines bounding after Thor. "Find Dean." The tan and black Shepard immediately pulled back, sniffed the air, and disobeying Harvey for the first time ever, he once again charged through the snow toward the other Shepard.

"Sonuva – "Harvey cursed at his own stupidity for allowingSam to stay, jeopardizing the entire search and the safety of his own men. _I should've gone with my instincts. I damn well knew he was injured. Now Hank's down an' probably hurt, an' we're still no closer to finding Dean. _

Prepared for the worst, he rounded the bluff. Snow drifted and swirled over the fifteen foot sheer drop, mingling with the light flurries to blanket the two men. Sam lay on the ground, his left leg bent at an awkward angle. Eyes pinched closed, the injured man writhed in the snow, panting for breath. Hank was at his side with his pack open, administering first aide. If his fellow rescuer was injured, he never let on as he worked to control the younger man's bleeding.

"Slow, deep breaths, Sam," Hank instructed as he worked to stabilize and splint Sam's leg. "Compound Tib/Fib fracture," he called back over his shoulder, the slight tremor in his tone the only indication that he was in pain himself. "Penetrating puncture wound to the upper right quadrant of his chest."

Harvey hastily closed the distance between them, shuffled through Hank's pack, and yanked out his walkie-talkie. "Gloria, patch me through to Pete ASAP."

"He's already on his way up there with the Argo, Chief," Gloria responded after a moment, "George and Steve are comin' up with him."

After taking a moment to allow the information to sink in, he pressed the call button again. "They're bringing up both vehicles?"

"That's affirmative."

Harvey breathed a sigh of relief, hearing that the three paramedics were on their way. Although all the rescuers were skilled in basic life support, only a select handful had gone on to become fully trained paramedics. "ETA?"

"You should be seeing them at any moment."

True to her word, within a few moments, he heard the roar of the all-terrain rescue vehicles, equipped with a custom built stretcher carriers for transport, skirting the edge of the avalanche area. The heavy tracks on the vehicles churned through the snow, eating up the distance, and closing the gape between them within minutes.

"Pete," Harvey shouted above the whine of the engine, and gestured to both Hank and Sam. "Load 'em both up an' get them off this mountain. Then I want you back here."

"Alright, Chief," Pete said, backing up his vehicle and turning around, before he got out and went for the stretcher.

"Both of us?" Harvey whipped around to stare at Harvey, anger flashing in his bright blue eyes. "No fuckin' way. I'm not going anywhere until I find his brother."

"I-I'm not leavin' w-without my brother," Sam slurred, pushing Hank's arm away from him as he tried to sit up.

"You don't have a choice in the matter," Harvey said in a short, clipped manner. "You're putting your brother's life at more risk being here. We can't do our jobs," he jabbed his finger toward the dogs who were busy sniffing around the area a few yards away from Sam and Hank, "An' the dogs can't do their job either if they're too busy tracking you instead of Dean. So whether it's against your will or not, you _are_ getting on the Argo."

"S'my fault – h-have ta say I'm s-sorry." Tears brimmed in his eyes and fell unabashedly down his cheeks. "Have to be h-here for 'im."

"Sam, the Chief's right." Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, he gave a firm nod. "You're in no shape to be lookin' for anyone." He looked the younger man square in the eyes, determination to find Dean evident in every line and contour of his rugged face. "I swear to you, I'm not comin' down from here without him with me, but you gotta go."

Steve and George moved in, regarding Sam cautiously as they set to work stabilizing him onto the stretcher, while Pete took his vitals. At first he fought against their efforts to administer first aide, swatting away the oxygen mask they placed over his mouth and nose, until Hank and Harvey stepped in and held his arms down so they could secure the belts around him.

Sam gave up his struggle, too weak to break free from the binds trapping him to the stretcher, and gripped hold of Hank's hand as if it was the last link connecting him to his brother. Drawing in a staggering breath, he focused glassy eyes on the rescuer. "H-he would die to s-save you – y-you do the same for h-him. Please do the same for him."

"He's not gonna die on my watch," Hank vowed, casting a sideways glance in Harvey's direction. They stared at each other for a long moment, both fully understanding the lie was necessary to save at least Sam's life, but it still didn't make it any easier to swallow.

"His pressure's bottoming out," Pete cut in, the urgency in his tone ending any thought except for the need to save Sam's life. "We're losing him, we've gotta scoop an' run." The four men hefted the stretcher into the air, and as one they carried it to the all-terrain vehicle, while Harvey returned his attention to the search for Dean.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"I-I'm not leavin' w-without my brother." The sound of Sam's voice cut through the frozen tundra of Dean's mind, offering him the solace of a warm oasis to take shelter in.

"S-Smmmy," he mumbled, the solitary word nothing more than a breathless whisper on his cracked, swollen lips. His eyelids sluggishly fluttered open and drifted closed again. _I'm here, Sammy – I'm right here. _

He could hear other faint voices and strange scratching noises nearby, but pushed the sounds of them aside to focus on Sam, silently willing his baby brother to search just a little bit further. Digging down deep, past the numbness, he tried to scratch at the snow above his head, but his fingers refused to budge.

"S'mmm," he gritted out, but with jaw locked and teeth tightly clenched the garble word was barely audible even to Dean's own ears.

"S'my fault – h-have ta say I'm s-sorry." Dean heard Sam utter, the desolation in his tone speaking volumes. He was giving up. He was Dean's only chance to break free of the icy prison he was trapped in, and he was giving up on him.

His eyes stung, but no tears would come. _No, Sammy, don't you dare give up on me. __Damn it, I need you to find me – I don't wanna die down here. Please . . . don't let me die like this. _

"Have to be h-here for 'im."

_That's it, Sammy, you stay here an' fight for me. I'm not going anywhere, lil' brother, so don't you leave me here._

"R-right here, S-Sammy," he called out again, pure determination to stay alive for his brother giving more strength and volume to his words, but feared it was still not loud enough to break through the solid wall of snow. Throat raw, his lungs burned with the effort it took him to breathe, much less speak, but he wasn't about to give up with his brother so close. "H-help . . . S'Smmm."

"H-he would die to s-save you – y-you do the same for h-him. Please do the same for him."

_No, Sammy, you save me – you find me. _

"His pressure's bottoming out," someone called out, and for the first time it dawned on Dean how weak Sam's voice sounded. "We're losing him, we've gotta scoop an' run."

"S-Sammy," he rasped, trying desperately to wriggle free from his confines to get to his brother. _God, please, I've got to get to him. _Gasping for air, he struggled to catch his breath, and fight off the wave of inky darkness that beckoned to him. Yet the more he fought the need to succumb to unconsciousness, the quicker his body and mind shut down on him.

_What the hell were you thinking to just leave him alone like this? He could be hurt or dead for all you know._

_M'sorry, Sammy . . . . _With his father's dire warning echoing in his mind, his eyelids fluttered closed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hopefully this satisfies everyone's needs for a little more hurt Dean. lol, I have to say that you Dean fangirls scare me just a bit. I am hoping that I got this as accurately as I possibly could write it as I am not a doctor or paramedic although I have trained to be an EMT. Thanks for reading. Seth

_Chapter Five_

Hunter and Thor circled an ever widening path, pawing at the snow. At first, Harvey believed they were still picking up Sam's scent as they headed toward where the all-terrain vehicles had been parked a few moments prior, but after sniffing the deep grooves left by the Argo's tracks, they doubled back. It was enough to give him some hope that they were close to where Dean ended up buried beneath the snow.

George grabbed his gear from the second Argo, and strode the distance to where Harvey was standing. Hank followed at a much slower pace, favoring his right leg, his arm clutched tightly around his ribcage. His features were pinched, eyes narrowed to a squint, and even if Harvey hadn't just witnessed him take a swan dive off the ledge with Sam, there was no mistaking he was in pain.

"You should have gone with them," he sternly admonished as he bent and retrieved the younger man's search gear. "Now you're the one who's the liability here."

"That's what I told him, Chief," George piped in, but from experience, they both knew the only thing that would stop Hank from finding a victim once he set his heart to it was if he was knocked unconscious and dragged off the mountain.

Harvey understood the younger man's reasonings, understood what losing his wife to the very thing that he protected others from on a daily basis had done to him. Hank had buried his heartbreak, and with determination unrivaled to anything Harvey had ever witnessed before, he threw himself into saving as many lives as possible. And although Harvey wouldn't consider his longtime friend reckless, he feared one day he would lose him to the snow that had claimed his young bride.

"That's bullshit an' you damn well know it." Hank snatched the search probe out of Harvey's hand, and with an angry glare, he trudged after the dogs. "I'm the best damn rescuer you've got here," he shot back over his shoulder, prodding at the thick snow with the pointed tip of the probe.

"True," Harvey conceded with a smile, "But yer also the most cockiest sonuvabitch I've ever worked with as well."

Letting the comment slide, Hank bobbed his head toward Hunter and Thor. "Think they've picked up Dean's scent."

Both dogs let out excited yelps, digging and pawing at the ground only a few feet away from the ledge. Harvey and Hank grabbed the collapsible shovels from their packs, and hurried to where the dogs were unearthing piles of hardened snow.

"Good boys," Harvey gave each dog a quick pat on the head, scratching them behind the ears as a reward for finding their quarry. Still barking to alert the other rescuers, the two Shepards moved back, and Hank, George and Harvey hastily dug into the hard-packed snow with the probes until they hit upon a solid form. "We've got him." As the other two dug into the concrete that was masquerading as snow, Harvey reached into his pocket, yanked out his hand-held radio and pressed the button, calling to the other rescuers. "Frank, we've found him. Get the others and meet us down beyond the ledge."

"Will do, Chief," came Frank's gruff reply after a moment.

Carefully but quickly they dug a trench around where Dean was laying, and worked inward to uncover him. Hank dropped to his knees, and scooped away the loosened snow with his hands, uncovering Dean's face. Crouching, he tilted his head to the side and listened for any signs that Dean was alive. A deep sigh of relief escaped him when he felt a soft whisper of air against his cheek.

"He's alive."

Under the snow for well over an hour and a half, they hadn't held out much hope to find Dean alive, and it was all they needed to hear to dig in more enthusiastically. Within a few minutes, the other men reached the rescue site, and exchanged places with George and Harvey. Yet for as injured and exhausted Hank was, he refused to stop working to save Dean's life.

"Joey, get the stretcher," Harvey barked out the order, and the youngest member of the search and rescue team rushed to do as he was instructed. "Jeff, have plenty of blankets ready for once he's removed."

"Gotcha." Jeff immediately searched through all the rescuers' packs, and retrieved every blanket they had brought with them.

Before Harvey could even think to issue his next order, he saw Frank pull out his walkie-talkie and radio ahead to the awaiting helicopter. "One man down," the seasoned rescuer tallied off his first observations of Dean's overall condition. "Buried approximately ninety minutes. Unconscious but breathing spontaneously on his own upon extrication."

As a team, they carefully lifted Dean from the ground, and placed him on the stretcher. Jeff was there in an instant to place the blankets over him.

"Temp, 22.9 degrees," George called out, already working on intubating Dean, and Frank was quick to relay the information. Once he had Dean intubated, Hank took over with the ventilations as the paramedic worked quickly to evaluate for any other life threatening injuries. Pulling back Dean's eyelids, he flashed a penlight in them. "Pupils dilated, sluggish response to light." As he continued to access Dean's injuries, the other rescuers cautiously stabilized him to the board, readying him for transport. "Blunt force trauma to the chest and abdomen. Possible femur fracture," he added as he lightly pressed his fingertips against Dean's leg, feeling for any crepitation. "Dislocated knee, open fracture to the left Tibia."

"Just scoop and run," came the voice of the paramedic aboard the helicopter after Frank tallied off the mounting list of injuries. "We've gotta get that temp up or it's really not gonna matter if he's got a head injury."

"Gotcha," Frank replied, but didn't have to bother relaying the order as the team of rescuers were already lifting Dean off the ground, and within a moment they were heading toward the Argo. "Loading him up now. We should be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Alright, Rescue One, we'll be waiting," the paramedic called back over the radio, "Keep him as warm as possible and keep monitoring his temp."

"Will do."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

The moment Dean was transported onto the Medivac and was en route to Saint Anthony's Hospital, the two paramedics aboard the helicopter peeled back his blankets, cut away the damp, frigid clothing that clung to his skin, and wrapped him in warming blankets. Hank, who had refused to allow anyone else to take over doing ventilations, continued to pump lifesaving oxygen into Dean's lungs as a young, female paramedic hooked him up to a heart monitor. The bluish line on the small screen jerked up and down at an irregular rate, and as the copter jostled in the turbulence Dean's heart rate became more erratic.

"Can't you do something about keeping this damn thing more steady," Hank shouted to the pilot above the din of the copter's engine.

"Strong winds comin' out of the west, nothing I can do about it," the pilot hollered back over his shoulder.

"Saint Anthony's, this is Mercy Flight Two," the female paramedic called into the mouth piece attached to her flight helmet. "En route with one male patient, approximately twenty-seven years of age. ETA ten minutes. Severe hypothermia. Core temp 22.3. Intubated on site. Registering heart arrhythmias."

"Mercy Flight Two, this is Doctor Collins," came a voice over the helicopter's intercom. "We'll be waiting for you. Minimize any motion and continue monitoring his vitals. Keep us informed of any changes."

"Will do." As the petite, female paramedic worked to slowly bring Dean's temperature back up to normal, her male partner set to work on his other injuries.

"Possible closed head injury," the male paramedic said after flashing a penlight into Dean's eyes. "Right radius deformity," he added, careful to touch Dean's skin as little as possible as he continued his assessment.

"There appears to be bruising to the chest and abdomen," the female paramedic noted, jotting down all the information as they gathered it. She glanced up at the monitor, checked Dean's heart rate, and shook her head. "Damn it, how much further, Ed?" She shouted to the pilot.

"About five minutes."

"Saint Anthony's, this is Mercy Flight Two," she called into her mouth piece again, "Patient is in ventricular fibrillation. Requesting permission to start defibrillation."

"Mercy Flight Two," came Doctor Collins' voice over the intercom after a few moments. "You have the go ahead to start with defibrillation. No more than three shocks, and then continue with life saving measures."

"Starting on defib," she said, confirming the order. Removing the paddles from the machine to her left, she set the charge, and with her arms raised over Dean's chest, she waited until she heard the machine beep. "Clear," she ordered, and both Hank and the other paramedic lifted their hands in the air as she delivered the first charge. Dean's body arched upward off stretcher, then slumped back down. Tilting her head to the side, she glanced back up at the monitor. "No change." She moved the dial, increasing the jules, and waited for the machine to charge again. "Clear," she commanded, and delivered the second shock. Once again, Dean's body arched upwards, and then fell back against the stretcher. "Come on, damn it," the paramedic cursed, noting the line flattening out to become a straight line across line across the screen. "I'm not letting you flat line on me."

_Damn it, Dean, don't you die on me. _Hank watched helplessly as the paramedic delivered the final charge, but the line remained constant across the screen. _I promised Sam I wouldn't let you die on me, an' you damn well aren't gonna die. Not now. Not after you survive an hour and a half underground. _

"Shock him again," Hank shouted, and not about to give up on the dying man, he resumed ventilations. "Please, just one time."

"Protocol and direct orders specified no more than three shocks," the petite paramedic dictated, but bit at her lower lip as if unsure and looked as if she was pondering doing as he had asked.

"He's not dying here like this. His brother expects him to live, so you fuckin' better make sure he does."

"I'm sorry, I can't go against direct orders," she said with a shake of her head. "I truly am sorry."


	6. Chapter 6

I was really floored by the response to the last chapter, and wanna thank everyone for taking the time to read and review. lol, I really have to say you Dean fan girls are evil, remind me never to cross any of you. Seth

_Chapter Six_

"Oh, the hell you can't go against direct orders," Hank shot back, dropping the ventilator bag and snatching the paddles out of her hands. "I pretty much think when someone's flat lining it's the perfect time to become a rule breaker."

"Protocol clearly states no more than three shock for a severe hypothermia," the female paramedic argued, grabbing the ventilator bag, and squeezing oxygen into Dean's lungs. "You do this and you're risking more than just your job."

"You see that damn flat line," He jabbed one of the paddles toward the screen, "that's telling me to say fuck the job an' try an' save a life – an' if you weren't such a cold-hearted bitch, you'd feel the same way." Twisting the dial, upping the jules, Hank placed the paddles over Dean's chest. "Clear," he hollered as the beeper sounded, staring her dead in the eyes, and when she failed to let go of the ambu-bag, he threatened, "Clear or so help me God, you'll be joining him on a stretcher out of here."

"Mandy, just let him do it," the male paramedic cut in, and lifted his hands away from Dean.

For a moment, Mandy looked as if she might argue further, but as Hank lowered the paddles to hover over Dean's chest, she pulled her hands away. "Come on, Dean, Sam's waiting for you at the hospital. So don't you dare let him down." He delivered the shock, ending his career, and Dean's lifeless body lifted off the stretcher. His sights immediately shot to the small screen, and holding his breath he waited. A wavering blip appeared across the inky black monitor, followed shortly by another and another. "That's it, Dean, you keep fighting."

Hank handed the paddles back to Mandy, and pushed back against the wall of the copter. "Like I said, sometimes ya jus' gotta say fuck the protocol, an' go on instinct." Through sheer determination alone, he kept his eyelids from fluttering closed. If he allowed himself to succumb to the weariness and pain swiftly overtaking him, the nightmares would begin again, just as they always did after a rescue. _I saved them, Sarah. _Tears brimmed in his eyes, recalling his wife's beautiful smile, and the way she pressed her body close to his and kissed him for the last time before she died. _I save them the way I should've saved you._

"Saint Anthony's this is Mercy Flight Two," Hank heard Ed call out into the mouth piece attached to his flight helmet, "We're preparing for final descent, please have doctors on standby."

"Mercy Flight Two," A female voice came back over the intercom a moment later, "Doctor Collins' is awaiting your arrival."

"Saint Anthony's," Mandy called into her headset, "Please be advised patient is still registering arrhythmias. Asystole approximately two minutes. Four shocks delivered en route."

"Will advise, Mercy Flight Two."

"He has a damn name," Hank muttered, liking Mandy less and less as the moments ticked by. "It's Dean. And he has a brother who was willing to die to save him, so get your head outta your frigid ass an' treat him like a damn human being instead of just another job you have to do."

The helicopter landed on the heliport. As the propellers slowed, several doctors and nurses, ducked their heads and rushed forward with a gurney. As a team, they quickly extricated Dean from the pit of the copter, and careful to shielded from the harsh, cold wind, they wheeled him through the double doors, and headed for the Emergency Room. Limping to catch up to them, Hank listened as they rattled off Dean's vitals, and course of action to bring his core temperature back to normal.

"Who's on call in Ortho?" Hank heard the tall doctor with graying hair ask as they took a right turn down a long corridor.

"Doctor Spellman," A pretty brunette instantly responded, "I'll have him paged when we get to the ER."

"We have to bring his temp back up first. Have him on standby," the doctor ordered, taking a brief moment to appraise Dean's left leg. "Advise him that we might need to amputate below the left knee."

"You're not cuttin' off his leg," Hank heard himself saying, and mentally kicked himself for interfering as the doctor shot him a questioning look. He knew he shouldn't have interfered, knew he was already in enough trouble, but if there was one shot in hell that they could save Dean's leg, he couldn't back down. "You do whatever it is you have to do to save him, but you at least try and save his leg first. Got me?"

"Are you a member of the immediate family, son?" The Doctor lifted a brow, appraising Hank's appearance, and pointed at the name on his orange rescue jacket. "Hank, you've done your job, now let us do ours."

Although the doctor hadn't spoken harshly, Hank stopped in his steps, the mental high of saving a life leaving him rush, plummeting him back into heartbreaking despair. He forced a smile, no longer seeing Dean on the gurney, but Sarah instead as they wheeled away from him. "His brother's here in the ER," he called out to them, "before you cut off his leg, make sure Sam knows about it." Hank spun around and trudged toward the waiting room, not about to leave until he was certain both Sam and Dean were going to be all right.

Hank took a seat in the corner of the room, and through lowered lashes, he watched the families of all the patients. From a single glance, he could tell which families had brought their loved ones in with life threatening injuries, and which ones were there for minor accidents. A man with a scruffy beard, and wearing a trucker cap caught his attention as they locked eyes, neither one giving in to the awkwardness of staring at a total stranger. His gaze strayed to the white cross on Hank's jacket for a moment, and then he looked back into his eyes.

The older man stood, and Hank noted the slight hesitation in his steps as he walked toward him. "Mind if I take a seat," he asked in a gruff voice as he motioned to the chair beside Hank's, and without waiting for Hank to respond he sat down. "My name's Bobby – Bobby Singer, an' I think you're probably one of the men who helped to Sam's life. An' if ya are, I just wanted to thank you." From the way he lowered the brim of his hat, and the slight tremor in his tone, Hank could tell he was uncomfortable with showing his emotions, but also truly grateful for what the rescuers had done to save Sam and Dean.

"Yeah. Are you related to them?" Hank asked, recalling that Sam had said his last name was Winchester.

"No, but we're family nonetheless." Bobby shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he drew a hand across his bearded chin. "I was on my way here to help – we were gonna go mountain climbing."

From the way Bobby couldn't meet his gaze, and changed what he had intended to say midstream, Hank knew he was lying. _H-he would die to s-save you – y-you do the same for h-him. Please do the same for him. _Sam's last words tumbled around in Hank's mind, and he recalled how neither man had dressed appropriately for trekking through the mountains. _Whatever the hell they were doing up there, it had nothing to do with sightseeing. _

"Well, seein' that neither one knew how to dress for the weather, I'm sure they could've used your help."

He looked to the double doors leading to the Emergency Room for a moment, and from there his gaze strayed to a young woman slumped in a chair. Her head was bowed, dark wispy bangs shading her eyes from view, but from the way her body trembled, he could tell she was crying. An older woman with graying hair tied back in a bun sat beside her, wrapped an arm around the younger woman's shoulders and drew her closer into an embrace. In their downcast faces and postures, he could tell that whomever lay beyond the automatic hospital doors meant the world to them. Hank refocused his attention on Bobby, and in the older man's glassy brown eyes, he saw the love and fear he felt for the two Winchesters, yet was trying so hard to hide.

"It's none of my business what they were doing up there," he murmured, although he couldn't deny the stab of curiosity that pricked at his mind. "I'm just glad they both made it off the damn thing alive."

"So Dean – h-he's alive?" Relief flooded the man's weathered features, and Hank understood the reason why he had failed to mention Dean up to this point. Love was evident in eye line and detail etched into the man's face. Whoever this man was and however he came to be in their lives, he truly was family to them.

_How the fuck am I suppose to say he'll probably die? _A thick lump formed in Hank's throat, making in nearly impossible to speak. _An' even if he does beat the odds, how __the hell do I tell him that he's gonna lose his leg? _

"He was in critical condition when we brought him in, but they're doing everything they can to save him." The words left a bitter taste in Hank's mouth. He'd entrusted Sarah's life to a bunch of men in white coats who didn't know the first thing about how wonderful she truly was. They didn't know that a single smile from her could set his heart to beating so fast in his chest that it sometimes staggered him at how much he loved her. And these same doctors could never know how much Dean meant to those who loved him.

"He's – he's, well, if he lives he's probably gonna lose his leg." Hank swallowed hard against the painful knot constricting his throat. There was really no doubt in his mind that they would have to take Dean's left leg. He had seen the damage done to it, but even if he hadn't broken it so badly the severe frostbite made it a matter of life and death.

"No. He can't." Bobby gave a firm shake of his head, eyes now brimming with moisture. "You don't know what that would do to him." He angrily swiped away the tears slipping down his cheeks to dampen his beard. "It'd kill him."

"I'm sorry." The words slipped effortlessly from Hank's mouth like they had done so many times in the past when faced with family members who had looked to him to save their loved ones. Each failure twisted at his guts, making it harder and harder to find a reason to keep on fighting so damn hard. "I really tried – you have to believe I did my best to get to him in time."

"You should've tried harder," Bobby breathed, anger now mingling with sadness in his stormy eyes. "He would've given everything he had to save you. So I'm sorry to say, but your best just wasn't good enough. It wasn't even damn near close to being good enough."


	7. Chapter 7

I know this is a short chapter, but in my defense, I was out snowboarding last night and am pretty sore today. I hope all you Dean and Sam girls will forgive me, but it's winter and I love the snow. Seth

_Chapter Seven_

"Dea – " Sam breathed, his voice a mere whisper that would have been lost to the rhythmic beat of the heart monitor if Bobby hadn't been waiting to hear him speak for three days.

In an instance Bobby was on his feet and at the youngest Winchester's side. "Don't try an' move, Sam." He lightly laid a hand on the hunter's left shoulder to keep him from trying to sit up.

His gaze ticked to the next bed over where Dean lay deathly still with his severely damaged leg raised off the bed in a sling. Doctors had pumped around after round of broad spectrum antibiotics into his system to try and save his leg, but as the days progressed Dean's health rapidly began to deteriorate. Still Bobby had held out hope that things would somehow turn around, and the younger man's leg could be saved. Yet all his hopes were shattered earlier in the day when Doctor Spellman examined Dean.

"_The infection and damage to his leg is too severe. If we don't amputate soon, I'm afraid the outlook for recovery from his injuries is non-existent." The dark haired doctor took a seat beside Bobby, and held out a clipboard and pen for him to take. "I'm sorry, Mr. Singer, but as his relative I do need your consent to perform the surgery."_

_Bobby stared at the consent form through blurred vision, and with lower jaw trembling, he shook his head. "I can't do it." _

_Confusion briefly registered in the young doctor's golden-brown eyes, but he quickly recovered. "I know it's not fair, and wouldn't even suggest it if I thought there were any options, but it's his only chance for recovery."_

_For as much as Bobby loved Sam and Dean, and in his heart believed them to be family, he didn't have the right to make life altering decisions on their behalf. Yet he could understand the doctor's frustration as he tried time and time again to get Bobby to consent to the surgery to save Dean's life. The man believed him to be their uncle, and couldn't understand why he would hold out on consenting if it meant Dean would survive. "I jus' can't – it has to be his or Sam's decision."_

_Retracting the clipboard, the bespectacled man stood and heaved a deep sigh. "Alright, Mr. Singer. I'll wait a little while longer for his brother to wake up, but you have to understand that there's a very narrow doorway of time in which I'm working with here. Infection is spreading through his body and there's going to come a point in time when there won't be anything I can do to help him._

_Bobby was silent for a moment as he weighed the options of what Sam would want for Dean, and what Dean would want for himself. Sam would want Dean to live no matter the cost. He would die to save his older brother as Dean would do for him. Yet if Sam was the one to decide that Dean would lose his leg, Bobby doubted he could live with that kind of guilt. And Dean, for all his strengths, would be crushed beyond belief if he was forced to live the rest of his life without his leg. So to say this was unfair to either of them was more than just a mild understatement. _

"_If Sam doesn't wake up today, I'll sign the damn form," Bobby uttered, deciding that he wanted Dean to live even if it meant that the eldest Winchester hated him for it._

"S'Dean okay?" Sam mumbled in a breathless whisper. His eyelids fluttered closed, the strong pain medication making it difficult for him to remain awake, but after a moment they sluggishly lifted again. "S'he alive?" he slurred, licking his cracked lips as he looked to Bobby for an answer.

"Sam," Bobby lightly squeezed the younger man's shoulderin a comforting manner as he tried to figure out how he was going to tell him about Dean. "He's right there." Swallowing hard against the tight lump in his throat, he bobbed his head toward the bed next to Sam's.

A faint smile graced Sam's face as he tilted his head to the side to look at his brother, and Bobby had to lower his head, finding it harder and harder to keep his emotions in check. "S'alright then." With a smile still hitching at his lips, he closed his eyes once more, falsely assured in the knowledge that Dean was going to be fine.

"Sam, you've gotta stay awake for me." Bobby blinked back his tears, and focused on telling Sam about Dean's leg. "There's something I have to tell you about Dean – th-there's something you have to do."

For a moment it appeared as if Sam had slipped into unconsciousness again, but then his eyelids cracked slightly open and he peered at Bobby. "What's wrong?"

Bobby who couldn't meet and hold his expectant gaze, lowered his head and looked away. _How the hell am I suppose to tell him this? _He scrubbed a hand across his bearded jaw, and swiped away the stray mutinous tears dripping down his cheeks. _He tried so damn hard to save him – this is gonna destroy him . . . destroy them both. _

"Bobby, what is it?" Sam's voice sounded a little stronger as he fought to stay conscious for his brother. "Tell me what's wrong with Dean?"

Bobby shot a glance in Dean's direction, cursed under his breath, and quickly lowered his sights again. Pulling his hand away from Sam's shoulder, he slumped back down onto his chair. "He busted up his leg pretty damn bad . . . ." his trembling voice trailed off, grimacing at the severe understatement of what he had just said.

"B-but he's gonna be alright, right?" Sam's eyes glistened as he met and held Bobby's gaze. Tears brimmed and slipped down the sides of his face as Bobby shook his head, and the older hunter was forced to look away again. "He – he has to be alright, Bobby."

"Sam, they have to – they need to amputate his leg," Bobby somehow managed to choke out the hardest words he had ever had to say to someone.

"No." Shaking his head back and forth against his pillow, Sam squeezed his eyelids closed. "No. No. No. He can't lose his leg . . . I shot the gun – I set off the damn avalanche. It should be me. Why the hell isn't it me?"

The heart monitor beeped faster as Sam's heart rate rose, his utter heartbreak registering in every single blip on the black screen. Bobby stared at it for a moment, almost entrance by the nerve jarring sound that until a moment ago had blended into the background of the hospital room.

"Sam, you have to calm down," Bobby ordered, broken from his trance by the sight and sound of Sam's wrenching sobs. "You have to be strong for Dean."

"H-how, Bobby – you tell me how?" Sam clutched at his injured chest, gasping for breath. "He can't live like this . . . it'll kill him." He wheezed, struggling to draw in air, and gripped a firmer hold of his chest. "An' – an' he'll hate me for it."

"It wasn't your fault, Sam," Bobby tried to reassure, pressing the nurses' call button to get someone in the room to help the youngest Winchester. "It was an accident. Dean knows that. He knows you would do whatever it took to save him."

"When are they – " Sam shifted his head to stare at his brother laying motionless in the bed beside him, and his face crumbled, more tears cascading down his cheeks. "H-how long until they ampu – when are they operating?"

Bobby's breath lodged in his throat, mind reeling at the thought of the unending guilt Sam would endure after he signed the paperwork to have Dean's leg removed. "You have to sign the consent form and then they'll operate as soon as possible afterward."

"I won't do it." Sam adamantly shook his head. "I won't be the one to take his leg from him. I won't."

Bobby laid a hand on Sam's arm, wanting to somehow convey that he understood what the younger man was going through. But in truth, he couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of hell Sam was facing at the moment. No matter what choice he made, his life would never be the same again. "He's dying, Sam," he uttered, effectively taking away any thoughts Sam might be having of not signing the paper that would save Dean's life. "If they don't remove his leg soon, the infection will spread through his body, an' it will kill him."

For what seemed the longest time, Sam remained deathly quiet as his eyes remained locked on Dean. "H-how am I suppose to tell him that I'm the one who took his leg from him?" he murmured, his voice no more than a ghost of a whisper. He turned to look at Bobby, and Bobby's heart shattered seeing the broken look of desolation on the young hunter's face. "How's he ever gonna forgive me for that?"

"He'll forgive you, Sam – he'll forgive you because your his brother and he loves you."

"How can he when I'll never be able to forgive myself for this." Sam shrugged free of Bobby's grasp and covered his face with his hand, his heartbroken sobs filling the room. "Get the paperwork, Bobby."

_Afternote: lol, I know you Deangirls are getting out your pitchforks to hunt me down, but I hope you will understand that I am trying to be as accurate as I possibly can under the circumstances. Thanks in advance for not killing me. Seth_


	8. Chapter 8

I wanted to take a moment once again to thank people for still reading my story and for the really exxxcellent reviews. Seth

_Chapter Eight_

The faint sound of Dean's shuddering breath broke the silence, and although Sam knew he was crying, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He had opened his mouth several times to speak, but as the words formed on his lips, he snapped it back shut. There was nothing he could say to make this right. There was nothing he could do to make Dean forgive him.

Dean had barely spoken a word since he awoke from surgery, and when he did it was never directed toward Sam._ Four days and he still won't talk to me._ _He won't even look at me. God, what the hell did I do? I couldn't let him die – I just couldn't. _

Sam winced, a groan escaping him as sharp pain racked his chest and left leg, but he refused to press the button, releasing morphine into his system to quiet the growing ache. He knew it was only a small sacrifice on his part, knew it would amount to nothing in comparison to what Dean was going through, but at the moment it was the only thing he could think of to do.

Abruptly sucking in a rush of air, he squeezed his eyes closed and held his breath. He clutched for his chest, feeling as if someone had just rammed a searing dagger into his wound. Sweat dripped from his dampened bangs, and slipped into his eyes to mingle with his tears. Another cry burst from his lips, one he couldn't muffle, one he was certain Dean heard, and cursed at his own weakness.

"What are you doing, Sammy?" Dean uttered after several long moments had past, his voice strained and heavily laden with emotion. "Push the damn button."

"M'okay." The tremor in his voice might as well have been a bright beacon flashing the words _I'm so definitely not okay, _but there was nothing he could do to prevent the pain from showing through in his tone. After initial surgery to repair the damage to his right upper chest and collarbone, he underwent two additional surgeries; one to repair his leg and the other to repair a laceration to his lung that had been masked by the other injuries he had sustained. It really wouldn't have had to take a freaky psychic to realize he was in a lot of pain, but he had hoped Dean wouldn't notice.

"Either you do it or I'm gonna call someone in here to do it for you."

Sam tried not to focus on the last part of what his brother had said, but his gut still lurched nonetheless. To Sam it was as if Dean had resigned his post to watch over him, and although he had always assured his older brother he could protect and look out for himself, he needed Dean. Dean was more than just a protector to him, he was home. He was the only constant good thing in a world filled with one hellish nightmare after the next, and Sam would be damned if he gave up on himself.

_But what do I say to him? _Sam racked his mind to find a common ground, someplace where they could just be Sam and Dean again. A place where avalanches, Wendigos and injuries didn't exist, but for as hard as he tried he couldn't find any. Avalanches were real. Wendigos did exist. And injuries, well they were two perfect examples of how injuries could destroy a life.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said before he could think to stop himself. The very last thing Dean needed to hear was that he was sorry. It didn't lessen the guilt or take away any of the pain for what Sam had done to him. It was a contrived word made up to make the speaker of it feel better, and didn't even scratch the surface in conveying how Sam felt inside.

"Sorry for what, Sammy?" Dean's voice was thickly laced with bitterness as he turned his head to look at Sam. "Cause they took my leg." It wasn't a question, and the firm shake of his head affirmed it. "I would've done the same thing. So help me God, if it meant you would live, I would've done the same thing in a heartbeat."

"No, you would've found another way," Sam muttered, stubbornly refusing to allow Dean to alleviate any of his guilt. "You saved me an' this is how I paid you back for it."

"I don't see you running any marathons in the near future, dude, so I must not have done that great of a job."

In a brief unguarded moment, Sam caught a glint of hatred in Dean's eyes, but whether it was directed toward Sam or himself, he couldn't be sure. Sam could see what his brother was trying to do in his glistening green orbs. He wanted to twist it around, make the blame his own, and if he could then it would make sense to him. If he couldn't make it his own fault, he could blame God or the medical staff for not being there for him when he needed it. But if it was Sam's fault, Dean would have to take him off the pedestal he had place him on, and if he ever did he would finally see how horribly flawed Sam truly was.

"Don't do that, Dean. Don't turn it around to try an' make it fit into this crazy need you have to put all the blame on y-yourself." His voice crack, trembling with scarcely controlled emotion as he jabbed a finger toward Dean. "I shot the gun. I started the avalanche – an' I'm the one who signed the papers allowing them to take your leg. So don't you dare let me off easy."

"Is that what you want, Sam? You want me to hate you?" Dean gave a slight nod of his head, face contorting with all the pain and anger he was feeling inside. "Well, I'm sorry, little brother, but I just don't have it me at the moment to make you feel better. You wanna blame yourself, go the fuck ahead, but I've gotta live with this, an' I'll damn well do it any freakin' way I want to."

Unbearable silence filled the room, and for as close as their beds were situated, they might as well have been in different hospitals all together. Sam actually breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and a nurse entered the room, and although he wasn't certain, he believed he heard Dean do the same. If they didn't have to speak to each other, they both could pretend for a while longer that things hadn't changed between them.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean kept his sights trained on the sterile bandages wrapped over his left knee as the nurse wheeled Sam out of the room to go for more chest x-rays. _I shot the gun. I started the avalanche – an' I'm the one who signed the papers allowing them to take your leg. So don't you dare let me off easy. _His mind replayed their conversation over and over again, but kept circling back to those simple truths, and anger swelled within him.

He heard a knock and the door open again, but didn't raise his head, not trusting himself to look at his brother at the moment.

"Dean." An unfamiliar voice called out to him, and he glanced up expecting to see a doctor or nurse, but instead found a man with dark wavy hair and blue eyes standing at the doorway. "Umm, my name's Hank, an' I just wanted to stop by an' see how you an' Sam were doing."

Dean studied the man carefully, and noted the orange rescue jacket emblazoned with a yellow cross he carried slung over his forearm. A deep scowl furrowed his brow and hitched at his lips as he looked the man in the eyes. "How's it look like I'm doing?" he lashed out at him, gesturing toward what was left of his leg. Deep down he knew it wasn't this man's fault for what happened to him, but he needed to direct his anger toward something, and he would be damned if he aimed it toward Sam.

"You look like you're alive," Hank commented, trudging the short distance to the chair beside Dean's bed, and took a seat. "I think if you were dead, you'd probably look a whole helluva lot worse."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his bed, feeling Hank's scrutinizing eyes on his leg and quickly covered it with a blanket. "You've done your job, so why the hell are you here?"

"Wow, a thanks for risking my life to save you would've been nice, but I guess that works just as well." He laughed, not fazed in the slightest by Dean's cutting manner.

"Yeah, well, thanks a fuckin' heap for rescuing me so I could live the rest of my life as a cripple," Dean snapped, at the end of his patience with the infuriatingly cheerful man. "Now can you get the hell out of my room?"

Hank instantly sobered, the smile leaving his face as he shook his head. "That's not true, Dean. The only thing that's crippling you is your preconceived notion of what you can't do anymore. An' it's a damn far stretch from reality."

"How would even begin to know the first thing about it." His hands balled into fists, and it took every bit of self-control he possessed not to try and lunge at him. "I can't do my job with one leg." He splayed out a hand, motioning toward his legs. "An' I definitely can't protect my brother like this."

"You're right, I don't know what kind of job it is that you an' your brother do." He bent and rolled up his pant leg, exposing a metal prosthesis for Dean to see. Dean gaped slack-jawed at the metal workings of the artificial limb, and at an unusual loss as to what to say, he lifted his sights to stare at Hank. "But if I can do my job without a leg, I'd have to say it's not entirely impossible." He unrolled his jeans, and smoothed them over his artificial limb. "Of course my other one broke when I went over the ledge trying to save your brother's life, but in all fairness Sam broke his leg on that fall, too." He stood, turned his back on Dean, and headed for the door, calling back over his shoulder. "So if you wanna sit there an' be some helpless cripple that's great. Have at it. But for me, I'd rather be as capable as I possibly can, an' if I fail at least I can say it's not for lack of trying."

"Wait," Dean called out to him, not knowing what he wanted to say, but knew he didn't want him to leave.

Hank stopped with his hand on the door handle, and pivoted to look at Dean. "Yeah, Dean?"

"I-I don't wanna be like this." He swallowed back the painful lump in his throat. His whole life he had fought against insurmountable odds. He had survived so many times where others would have packed it in and called it a day. He was a fighter. A survivor. The only difference this time was he had to fight harder to prove he could do it, because quiting wasn't an option for a Winchester. "Help me." It was the hardest two words he ever had to say to anyone, but also the most rewarding when he saw Hank give a firm nod.

_Afternote: I tossed around the idea of having Sam make some sort of deal to save Dean's leg and even considered making the whole thing some sort of freak premontion that Sam had to appease all the Dean fangirls with pitchforks, but I just couldn't do it. It is my belief that people who have amputations are every bit as capable as other people, and it would be doing a great disservice to Dean's strength as a character if I didn't believe he could overcome this obstacle. Seth_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks to all those of you who are still with me on this story, and also thanks for all the reviews. They are exxxcellent and mean a whole helluva a lot to me. But as a sidenote, to those who believe I should have given some warning as to where this story was headed in the summary, all I can say is that I let the story write itself as it unfolds. And truthfully, I've never once opened a book that had a detailed summary as to what I might find questionable so I could decide whether or not to read it. And if the worst thing I ever do as a writer is try to give as accurate of description as possible to any series of events, well, then I've done my job and have nothing to be ashamed of. Sorry for the little rant, but I feel I deserved to have my say. Seth_

_Chapter Nine_

Dean didn't want to be angry with Sam, didn't want to resent the fact that his little brother would leave the hospital and crutches behind while he wasn't so lucky, but he couldn't help it. Every single twinge and burning sensation he felt from his non-existent lower left foot, reinforced his growing rage toward the one person he cared about most in all the world.

The doctors had called it phantom pain, and had explained how his brain was reworking its circuitry. However, he had stopped listening to them when they went on to explain how they could attempt to combat the symptoms.

"I'm being haunted by my fuckin' foot," he muttered under his breath, a wry chuckle escaping him at the irony. "Already know how to combat that – salt an' burn the damn thing the first chance I get."

"You say something, Dean."

"No," he said in a curt manner, although he had heard the sound of hope in Sam's tone, and saw his little brother's face fall in response.

"Well, if you wanna talk, I'm here." A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Sam's lips, but faded rapidly when Dean shook his head.

"There's nothin' to talk about." It was a lie. There were a million things ramming around inside his mind that needed to be said. He wanted to tell Sam it wasn't his fault, and really make him believe it. He wanted to say that things would all work out, and have it be the truth and not just wishful thinking on his part. He wanted to say that they would hunt again. But every time he opened his mouth to speak, his gut clenched tightly and the words died on his lips.

He was saved from having to make awkward conversation when the door opened and a woman entered the room. She looked to be in her early forties, graying slightly at the temples of her curly chestnut hair. With a clip board tucked under her arm, she maneuvered a wheelchair between the two beds. At first Dean thought she had come to speak with Sam, but she turned to face him instead.

"Hello, Dean," she extended an arm to shake his hand, but when he failed to take hold of it she let it fall back to her side. "My name's Sandra Richards, and I'm the resident Prosthetist here at Saint Anthony's.

"You're a what?" Dean's eyes widened in confusion, thinking her title sounded vaguely like a prostitute, but highly doubted she was here to bring him any pleasure at all.

"I'm a Prosthetist," she restated as if he hadn't heard her the first time. "I've been working with your doctors to fit you with a temporary prosthesis so you can be up and walking before you leave the hospital."

Dean could feel the weight of Sam's puppy-dog eyes on him, and purposely kept his gaze averted. It was hard enough to have to listen to this woman talking about his missing lower leg and walking again as if it were not a big deal, without having to deal with his little brother's guilt at the same time.

_Eye on the prize, Dean, _he reminded himself, trying to bolster his dwindling resolve. _Walking is one step closer to hunting again – One step closer to being able to protect Sam. _

"Do you mind if I take a look at your leg?" she asked permission as if he really had a choice in the matter. It wasn't like he could really say no if he wanted to walk again. Hell, if it meant he would walk again, a whole circus full of crazed freaks could join her in probing and prodding at his leg and he wouldn't have given a rat's ass.

"Go ahead," he muttered, and heard movement coming from Sam's bed as he shifted to take a look at Dean's leg as well. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, hating the thought that his little brother would see how useless he was as a human being now, but there was nothing he could do about it. _I'm gonna walk again. I'm gonna walk an' then hunt. I can do this. Nothing else matters. _

The Prosthetist removed the tight elastic bandages from around his knee, and with soft fingers she delicately probed the stitches from surgery. "Everything looks good." She smiled at Dean, pressing her fingertips on either side of his knee cap. "You'll need to continue doing exercises with your knee so you don't develop a flexion contracture."

"Flexion contracture?" Sam piped in, moving forward on his bed to watch her bend and flex Dean's knee joint. "What's that?"

Dean inwardly groaned. The very last thing he wanted was to have his little brother harping on him to do the exercises the doctors had showed him how to do to keep his knee from locking up on him.

"After below the knee amputation there's always a risk of the knee locking in a bent position," Sandra went on to explain to him, and Dean's groan became more audible as he knew that Sam would doggedly have him doing knee exercises in every spare moment of the day. "If it becomes bent and frozen in that position, your brother won't be able to use a prosthesis."

"There won't be any risk of that," Sam assured just as Dean feared he would. "I'll make sure he keeps up with them."

"I don't need help remembering to bend my damn knee, Sam," Dean snapped, the venom and hurt in his tone unmistakable. "I've been doing it my whole fuckin' life without any help from you, so I don't see why I need it now."

"Dean, I was just trying – "

"I know what you were trying to do, Sammy," Dean abruptly cut him off, eyes glittering with scarcely controlled fury. "But this is my problem, an' I can handle it without any help from you."

"Dean."

"Just shut up, Sammy – Just shut the hell up."

"Would you rather we continue this discussion in my office?" Sandra spoke up, to which Dean shook his head. Even if Dean didn't want Sam to interfere, his little brother had a right to know what kind of rehabilitation lay ahead.

"No, just tell me what I need to do to start walking again."

"At first we'll need to fit you with a cushion that will sit between your knee and the prosthesis." She pulled a pad of thick, cushioned foam out of her lab coat, and demonstrated what she meant as if Dean couldn't figure it out without a visual aide. "It will protect your leg while it's still healing, and make it less painful to walk on."

"How soon can I start?"

"Well, I brought the wheelchair so I could take you down to be fitted for a prosthesis, and scheduled you for PT in an hour."

"I wanna go with you, Dean." There was a silent plea in Sam's voice that Dean was hard-pressed to deny. Yet for as much as he wanted to mend the damage the avalanche had created between them, the thought of his brother watching as he tried to learn to walk again made his stomach squirm into tight knots. "Please, just let me come with you."

"Dude, it's just walking, you've seen me do it like a million times before," Dean tried to play it off as if it wasn't a big deal, and he would take to it as easily as he had the first time his father had given him a gun to fire. But from his past few physical therapy sessions that left him feeling incredibly weak and shaky afterward, he knew that wasn't the case. "It's not like I'm planning on doing any special tricks to entertain anyone. So you're better off staying here an' watching some tv."

"I'm going with you." The determined set of Sam's jaw, and the look in his hazel eyes told Dean that no matter what he said or did, there would be no getting around the fact that Sam was coming with him.

Heaving a deep sigh, he feigned a tight-lipped smile for the Prosthetist's benefit. "My brother's coming with me."

"That's fine." Sandra let down the guard rail on the side of the hospital bed and waited while Dean stood and transferred himself from the bed to the chair. "You're doing great, Dean." She lightly pat him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm Batman." Dean's grip tightened around the handles of the wheelchair, inwardly seething that to her the idea of standing to move to a wheelchair was a huge accomplishment, and acted as if he should be proud of himself. _I've fought ghosts, werewolves, and every damn hellish creature imaginable, yet I'm supposed to be happy cause I can stand while holding onto something. _

"At first the PT will have you practice standing like you've been doing over for the past few days," Sandra went on to say, ignoring the sarcasm in Dean's tone. "Once you're comfortable and have found your sense of balance we'll have you try taking some steps with the prosthesis."

"How much physical therapy is he gonna need?" Sam asked, and Dean could see in his little brother's eyes how he was mentally preparing himself for the worst case scenario.

"No two people are the same," Sandra explained as she wheeled Dean to the door and out into the corridor while Sam followed behind on crutches. "So it's really kind of hard to say, but at the very least he'll need a few weeks of outpatient physical therapy."

"I've already arranged for us to stay with our Uncle in South Dakota for a while, so can he do it there?"

"No, Sammy," Dean cut off Sandra before she had the chance to reply. "I've already lined us up a place to stay until I can return to work."

"You can't be serious, Dean." Sam picked up his pace, and stopped short in front of Dean, forcing Sandra to halt the wheelchair in its tracks. "Are you out of your freakin' mind? There's no way in hell I'm letting you go back to the job."

Dean swallowed hard; Sam's conviction that he could no longer be a hunter leaving him as cold inside as he had felt buried beneath the mountain of snow. "In that case you should have just left me buried beneath that damn avalanche because it's the only thing I know how to do – the only thing I wanna do, an' it's the only thing I'm fighting for at the moment."


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks for all the great comments, and a huge thanks to Neonchica for sending people my way. Very cool of you!! Thanks for having my back!! Seth_

Chapter Ten

Sam sat off to the corner by himself watching as Dean struggled to gain and hold his balance on one leg. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and dripped down his brow as he slowly lifted his hands away from the parallel bars. His dampened t-shirt clung to him, attesting to how hard he was working, but Sam could tell he had a ways to go before he would be able to walk without difficulty._ I can't believe he still thinks he can hunt. __How the hell am I supposed to talk him out of it without making him hate me anymore than he already does?_

"That's it, Dean," the young sandy-blond haired physical therapist encouraged. She stood close to Dean as he practiced standing for longer and longer periods of time without the assistance of the bars, but Sam could tell she was making it a point not to hover. "I know it's difficult and feels awkward, but you have to find a new center of balance to compensate for the loss of your limb."

Sam saw Dean's posture stiffened at the reminder of his leg. His concentration diverted, Dean wavered unsteadily on his one good leg for a moment before he fell forward, grasping a hold of the bars at the last possible second.

His own injuries forgotten, Sam leapt out if his chair to help Dean. Stumbling, his hands shot forward and he luckily caught himself before he did a face plant into the floor.

With his hands locked firmly around the bars, Dean lifted his head to glare at Sam. "I told you not to come with me, Sammy," he breathed, gruff tone full of raw emotion. "But you couldn't listen, could you?" Bicep muscles straining, he pulled himself back up to a standing position. "So tell me are you happy now? Have I proved how worthless I am or do you want more of an example?"

"That's not why I came with you, Dean." Sam jerked away from the male physical therapist who had rushed over to him and was trying to help him back to his feet.

"Just go back to the room, Sammy," Dean gritted out, green eyes flashing with fury and resentment. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head to the side and away from Sam as if sickened by the sight of him.

"Dean, I – "

"I don't want you here, so do us both a favor an' get the hell out of here before I say something that – " Dean's posture stiffened, fingers clenching around the sturdy wooden handrails as he reined in his anger. "Just go."

The physical therapy room went deathly silent and still as everyone turned their attention to the confrontation between Sam and Dean. Sam could feel the weight of their stares on his back as the same physical therapist who had tried to help him a few moments before handed him his crutches. Heat flushed his face, tears stinging at his eyes as the man assisted him to his feet.

"I think it would be best if you did leave," he commented, bobbing his head toward the double doors, but Sam scarcely noticed as his eyes were locked on Dean.

He waited, hopes rising slightly when he heard his brother let out a weary sigh and noticed his rigid stance slacken, but if he had relented he gave no other outward indication. "Alright," he finally managed to choke out through the thick lump that had formed in his throat.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean heard the door open and then close a few moments later, and cursed under his breath. Sam had only been trying to help, but in doing so he had drawn everyone's attention to them. Complete strangers who were supposed to be recovering from their own injuries were now staring at him. Pitying him. Their eyes burning holes through the empty space where is leg use to be.

He had always been able to blend into his surroundings before, a necessity of the job, but now even in a room full of people with various disabilities he stuck out like a prostitute in church. His heart grew heavier and heavier as the moments ticked by and the other patients returned to their therapy. After his conversation with Hank, and the older man's talk of returning to his job after his accident, Dean had actually believed he could return to hunting. But the truth was, Hank wasn't on the run. He didn't have to sneak into towns, and leave in the same manner. He could return to his old life because there were people there who welcomed him with open arms. Dean's only ally was Sam, and his little brother had made it quite clear that he felt Dean wasn't capable enough to do the job anymore. And if Sam didn't believe in him, what chance did he really have?

"Alright, Dean," his therapist, Monica, said, clapping her hands together, "let's get back to work. You need to locate your new center of gravity," she reminded again as she had done numerous times over the past few therapy sessions. "I know it's hard but you're still gravitating toward the left."

_Hard? What the fuck does she know? How can she even begin to know how hard it is? _Finding his balance, he slowly let go of the handrails and wobbled precariously on his leg. His mind kept telling him to put his left leg down to steady himself, and for as weird as it sounded, a few times he actually thought he had done just that.

"You're still leaning to the left, Dean." Monica moved around the bars and came to stand behind Dean. With her hands around both sides of his waist, she gently guided him into a more straighter position. "You'll expend a lot more energy using your prosthesis, so you need to be strong on your right leg."

She let go and moved away from him. Breathing hard, he focused all his energy on standing perfectly still, but the moment he closed his eyes, his leg began to wobble again and he lost his balance. Quickly reaching out, he gripped hold of the rails, and caught himself before he fell.

"Again, Dean," Monica ordered, her voice now sounding more like Dean's father's voice to his ears. "If you wanna walk, you first need to learn how to stand."

Sweat dripped down into his eyes from his drenched hair, blurring his vision as he once again let go of the bars, and tried to steady himself. _You're still gravitating toward the left_, he could hear his father say, his gruff voice ringing throughout Dean's mind. _Focus. Remember what I told you the first time you held a gun? Find your center. Slow even breaths. This is no different, Dean. _

Dean felt Monica's hands snake around his waist once more. He instantly tensed, furious with himself that no matter how hard he tried he was still getting it wrong. "Le' go," he snapped, stomach churning at the thought of how weak and helpless he appeared to everyone around him. "I can do this on my own."

"I'm here to help you, Dean," Monica said, not the least put off by his abrupt tone or the anger that burned in his eyes. "This is new for you, and I know it's hard, but you're not in a race with anyone to get to the finish line, and you certainly don't have to do it on your own."

"I need to walk," Dean gritted out, jerking free of her hold on him. "I need to run. I need to kick ass if need be – so I am in a race, an' I'm running it alone. So move the hell out of my way, an' let me do this."

"That may very well be true," the feisty therapist said with a curt nod, placing her hands back around Dean's side to straighten his posture. "But at the moment, every single thing you think you have to accomplish is impeding any progress you might be making here. So get it out of your head that you're gonna run a marathon right off the bat, and concentrate on the steps that make up that race." Monica released her hold on him and stepped back. "Now, try again."

Every muscle in Dean's body throbbed as he fought to stay standing for more than a few minutes without wobbling. His foot twitched and shook back and forth beneath him, a not so subtle reminder that at any given moment it would give out on him. Breathing hard through his nostrils, he moved his hands further and further away from the safety net of the bars.

"Don't lock your knee," Monica ordered, "You lock it, and eventually it's gonna give out on you."

"Easier said than done," he muttered under his breath, but tried to do as she had said. He softened his stance, and within a matter of moments he lost his balance again and toppled forward. "So much for not locking my knee," he groaned, wearily pulling himself back up to a standing position.

"You're doing fine. Like I said, this gonna take some time." Monica glanced at her watch, and gave Dean an encouraging smile. "I think we've done enough for the day."

"What?" Dean stared at her in utter disbelief. From there his gaze shifted to the temporary prosthesis the Prosthetist had given him to learn to walk on, and he shook his head. "I came here to learn how to walk again an' I'm not leaving without at least trying."

"You're not ready yet, Dean." She placed a sympathetic hand on his, and had the nerve to give him a smile of encouragement. "You're doing great. It just takes time."

"You don't seem to be getting it." Dean yanked his hand away from hers. "I'm not leaving here until I can walk on that damn thing." He steadied himself, preparing to keep on practicing until someone dragged him out of the therapy room.

"Alright," she gestured at the clock on the wall, "I'll give you another half hour, but that's it for the day." Monica came to stand in front of Dean, close enough to help him if he fell, but far enough away as to leave him believing she held some confidence in his progress. "This time when you let go of the bars, I want you to close your eyes, Dean."

"Why?" he asked, letting go of the handrails, and doing as she asked. Understanding immediately dawned on him as his center of balance was thrown completely off. Tumbling forward, he opened his eyes and gripped hold of the bars at the very last moment possible. The muscles in his arms and shoulders burned, and it took every ounce of sheer willpower he had left in him to pull himself back up.

"When your eyes are closed, it tends to throw off your sense of balance," she replied although it wasn't really necessary. "Which is not really a big deal when you're standing on two feet, but it's something you should be aware of and learn to compensate for."

"Well, as I don't plan on walking around with my eyes closed, I don't think it's gonna really be a problem," Dean snapped, frustration coloring his tone.

"Maybe not, but you still need to be aware of it," she said without the slightest bit of sympathy for him. "Now do it again."

Dean glared at her for a moment, hating her condescending manner, now more eager than ever to prove to her that he could walk. Lifting his hands away from the bars, he closed his eyes and steadied himself.

"That's it, Dean, find your center of gravity," she coached, lightly taking a hold off both sides of his waist. "Block out everything else and concentrate."

Dean's foot wobbled, leg muscles straining until they finally gave out on him, and he collapsed weakly into her arms. Carefully she maneuvered him so he was sitting on the ground, crouched beside him, and began to knead the bunching muscles in his thigh.

"Sonuva – " Pushing her hands out of the way, he dug his fingertips into his throbbing leg, massaging his muscles to try to work out the painful cramps.

"Tommy," Monica called to another therapist, and a man with bright red hair immediately rushed to their side. "Help me get him back into the wheelchair."

"I don't wanna go back in that damn wheelchair," Dean snarled, even as they helped him into it. "I wanna walk."

"An' you will," Monica promised, "just not today."


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey all, I'm sorry about the delay in posting the next chapter, I had to work out a few details in the storyline. Thanks for reading. Seth_

_Chapter Eleven_

"I was wondering when you'd get around to coming to see me," Monica said without turning around, and Hank shook his head in amazement that she always seemed to be able to sense his presence. She threw down the towel she was wiping the parallel bars with, and pivoted to face him. "Take a seat an' let me look at that knee."

"It's fine, Darlin', just a little sore's all." Even as he argued, she gently pressed her fingertips into his chest and guided him backward toward a chair. "You know what with all this special treatment, people are gonna start talking." He slid into the seat and rolled up his pant leg as she knelt beside him.

A low hiss escaped her as she removed his prosthesis, prosthetic ply sock, and the thick pad he had placed beneath his knee to lessen the pain from his newest injury. "Straighten your leg," she ordered in a no nonsense manner, and he reluctantly complied. Wincing, he pushed himself backward into the chair as she carefully prodded at his bruised knee. "I don't suppose you went to the doctor?" she asked, and heaved an irritated sigh when he shook his head.

"I was already suspended from work for two weeks, I'm not gonna have some damn doctor tell me I shouldn't be doing my job." Hank snatched the ply sock from her and slipped it back over his knee. With her still watching his every move for any signs that he was in pain, he slid his prosthesis back in place without so much as the slightest twitch. "Besides, I didn't come here to talk about me. I wanna know how he's doing."

"He's just like you were." Monica clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she rose to her feet. Taking a seat beside him, she grasped a hold of his hand. "He's so busy being worried about what he can't do yet that it's impeding the progress he could be making."

Hank processed the information she had just shared with him, and wondered not for the first time if he was making a huge mistake in offering to help the younger man. In his moment of indecision, Sam's words came back to both haunt and reassure him that he was doing the right thing. _H-he would die to s-save you – y-you do the same for h-him. Please do the same for him. _

"Don't let up on him, Monica," pursing his lips, he shook his head, "I don't care how angry he gets or how much he fights your help, you keep pushing him. You hear me?"

"Hank, it's not your fault what happened to him." Monica shifted in her seat to look at him, and lightly trailed her hand across his forehead to pushed back his shaggy bangs. "I know after what happened to Sarah, you – "

"This isn't about Sarah," he abruptly cut her off, the reminder of his wife's death like a sucker punch to his gut. "It's about something his brother told me when we were searching for him, an' I just can't get it out of my head."

"Are you sure you're not just making excuses to try an' help him because you couldn't help her?" Her startlingly clear blue eyes searched his for any hint that he was lying to her and himself, and had the decency to blush when she realized he knew what she was doing. "You don't owe him anything, an' you certainly didn't do anything wrong. He's alive because of you."

"Sam said Dean would die to save me, an' I should do the same for him." Suddenly choked up, Hank cleared his throat as he recalled how determined Sam had been to make certain Hank understood how important it was to save his brother. "I've done this job for a helluva long time, an' not once has anyone ever said that to me before."

"He was badly injured himself, and he had witnessed his brother being buried in an avalanche. I'm sure he would've said anything to get you to find him." Monica tried to rationalize Sam's reasons for saying what he had said, but it did nothing to deter Hank from believing there was more to it than that.

"I've always lived on gut instinct, Monica, an' I know I'm not wrong about this." Whatever Sam and Dean were doing up on the mountain, they certainly weren't sightseeing. His first thoughts had been that they were police officers trying to retrace the steps of the three people who had gone missing in the area a few weeks prior. However that idea rapidly changed when he had come to the hospital to see how they were doing and discovered they were registered under a fake last name. And if they were using a fake name, they had to be on the run from something.

He had considered the possibility that they might somehow be involved with the three disappearances, but that theory was blown apart when a young woman had vanished without a trace after Sam and Dean had been admitted to the hospital. Still, Hank couldn't shake the feeling that the Winchesters knew something about what had happened to all of them, and was determined to find out if he right.

The search and rescue patrol teams had scoured the mountains several times, but only found bear and other animal tracks, yet there was nothing to suggest that the missing people had been attacked by any of the creatures roaming through the wooded areas. Just to be on the safe side, Hank and Harvey had checked out all the known bear dens on the mountain range for any signs of activity, but found that all the bears were still hibernating for the winter, and had no reason to suspect that any had awoken.

_Maybe a new bear's moved into the area? It would explain the tracks, and maybe the disappearances as well. _

"I told Dean they could stay with me until he gets on his feet again," Hank said without any sort of preamble, and wasn't surprised in the least when she gawked at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"Are you out of your mind, Hank?" Abruptly taking to her feet, she paced back and forth in front of him, hands flying in vivid animation of her anger. "You don't know the first thing about them. You don't know where they came from – or what the hell they're doing here." Shaking her head, she huffed at him as he laugh at her tirade. Her eyes flashed a stormy shade of blue as she continued to upbraid him. "Don't you laugh at me, Hank. They could be murderers for all you know. Four people have vanished from around here, an' these two just happen to show up in the middle of it all. That's more than just a little coincidental if you ask me."

Hank instantly sobered, the laughter dying on his lips. "The girl disappeared after we rescued Dean from the avalanche, Monica, so they couldn't have had anything to do with it."

"Well, maybe they didn't have anything to do with it, but that still doesn't mean you should open up your house to strangers."

Hank leveled off his feet, and pushed himself into a standing position, careful to put most of his weight on his good leg. Taking a hold of her arm, he gently turned her to face him, and lightly caressed her cheek. "My home is set up to accommodate Dean's needs right now, so I'm not gonna have him go stay at some motel while he's here. I wanna do this for him, just like your Uncle Harvey did for me."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

From Dean's scowl, and by the way he kneaded his right leg, Sam was left with little doubt that his brother's physical therapy session hadn't gone any better once Sam had gone back to their room. After a male physical therapist with bright red hair helped Dean into his bed and had left, Dean sunk down as low as he could possibly position himself on the mattress. Without a word, he closed his eyes, feigning sleep so he wouldn't have to talk to Sam.

Sam glanced at his computer screen, scanned the article he had been reading, and paused on the words that had struck him earlier when he had read it though the first time. Closing the laptop, he shifted in his bed to look at Dean. "Have you ever heard of Carl Brashear, Dean?" he asked, not sure if his brother would even respond, but even if he didn't, Sam was still determined to speak his mind.

After what seemed the longest time, Dean finally muttered, "No, is there any reason I should have?"

"Not really," Sam shrugged, feeling slightly encouraged that Dean hadn't shut him out completely. "He just said something that kinda got me to thinking."

"An' what was that?"

"He said it's not a sin to get knocked down; it's a sin to stay down'."

Dean lifted his head off the pillow, and glared at him. His eyes glistened as he tried to rein in his anger, and Sam could tell it was taking everything in him not to say something he couldn't take back later. "Well, good for him. Bet he never lost his fuckin' leg in a avalanche, but when he does, I want you to go an' remind him of that great little quote of his."

"No, he didn't," Sam said with a nod, "he lost his after pulling a nuclear warhead out of the ocean."

Momentarily left speechless, Dean's lower jaw dropped open as he processed what Sam had said. Not about to let his older brother make excuses why his situation was different, Sam took the rare opportunity that Dean's silence presented, and pushed forward with the point he was trying to make. "They wanted to retire him, but he refused to give up, an' he proved them all wrong."

"Where you going with all this?" A glimpse of hope shaded Dean's features, but was quickly overshadowed with a grimace as he dug his fingertips into his thigh, kneading at his sore muscles.

Sam opened his laptop, clicked on the screen and brought up a picture of Carl Brashear. He turned the computer toward his brother and showed him the image of the African American amputee climbing up a ladder of narrow metal poles with numerous heavy weights strapped to his back. "It's gonna be hard work, Dean, an' it definitely won't happen overnight, but if you wanna hunt again – then we _are_ gonna hunt again."

_Afternote: I know this was kind of a short chapter, but I really just wanted to leave it with Sam giving Dean some hope back that they could hunt again. I know a lot of people doubt Dean could return to hunting after losing his leg, so I came across this picture of Carl Brashear and thought it might be of interest. www(dot)chasingthefrog(dot)com/reelfaces/menofhonor/brashear_test(dot)jpg It is the same picture that I had Sam show Dean. __ I think it is a real inspirational picture of a man determined to do whatever it took to return to the job he loved. After losing his leg in an accident he went on to become a U.S Master Diver, a job the navy said he couldn't do without his leg, he proved them wrong, so I have no reason to believe that Dean would be any different. Seth_


	12. Chapter 12

_Sorry for the delay. It's been snowing, and snow means skiing. Thanks for reading and for the exxxcellent reviews. Seth_

_Chapter Twelve_

After Sam vowed to stand behind Dean in whatever decision he made regarding hunting, Dean's renewed determination lasted as long as it took for him to learn that walking on a prosthetic leg was a real sonuvabitch. He had really thought that once he'd mastered standing on one leg, learning to walk again would be a cinch. After all, Carl Brashear had done it, and he didn't fight demons for a living. At the moment, he hated Carl Brashear.

"Dean." Monica's stern voice broke though his internal grumbles. He swiped away the sweat from his brow and gave her a forced smile. "Gait walking, is slow and steady," she reminded for what must have been the hundredth time since his therapy session had begun. "An' if I see you letting go of those bars again before you're ready, you're done for the day."

"I'll never learn to walk on my own if I can't let go of the damn bars," he gritted out, purposely lifting his hands to hover over the wooden handrails. He took an awkward, shaky step, but the second he put his left leg down he teetered precariously. Grasping hold of the rails, he caught himself before he fell, and cursed under his breath.

"Tommy, can you get Dean's wheelchair, he's done for the day," Monica called out to her co-worker, and crossing her arms, she refocused her attention on Dean. His eyes widened in in disbelief when Tommy did as she had asked while she fixed him with a stare that would make most demons envious. "If you don't want my help, Dean, then just say so right now, and then I won't be wasting my time with you when others could benefit from it."

"I've done every damn thing you've asked." Dean's voice rose in anger as he slammed his hand down on the rail, garnering the attention of the other patients. "I'm working my ass off here, an' all I ever hear from you is that I'm doing it wrong."

"Well, if you weren't so damn stubborn, thinking you should be running by now, you'd probably be walking with a cane instead of holding onto those bars," Monica shot back, not backing down in the slightest even though Dean glared at her as if he wanted to rip her throat out. "And by cane I mean, no you aren't gonna graduate from those parallel bars to running sprints around a track."

"Cane?" Dean's gut clenched, hoping that he somehow misunderstood her. "I'm not using any cane."

"Then you'd prefer a walker?"

Now Dean's gut wasn't the only thing clenching. His upper teeth were pressed so firmly against his lower ones, his jaw ached. If she was trying to piss him off, she certainly knew all the right buttons to push. "I'm not using any damn walker either."

"Oh, then you plan on falling a lot?" She lifted a brow in clear amusement. "In that case, I better plan on teaching you how to do that properly very soon." Dean narrowed his eyes on her, pinning her with a glare, but she remained unaffected by his attempt to intimidate her.

"You're such a fuckin' bitch." The moment the words slipped from his mouth, and he saw the slight waver in her lower jaw, he instantly regretted it. Although, admittedly a womanizer, he still had a healthy respect for women and always tried to treat them how he believed his father had treated his mother. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she held up a hand to stop him from saying another word.

"Maybe I am being a bitch, but I've been doing this job for a long time, an' you're not the first person who's decided they could do it all on their own." She took hold of the handles on the wheelchair Tommy had brought over and positioned the chair in front of where Dean was standing. "You're fighting me every step of the way as if I don't know what the hell I'm talking about – an' you know what? I'm done with it."

Staring at the wheelchair for a moment, Dean's gaze traveled upward and locked on her. The firm resolve in her clear blue eyes spoke volumes. She had seen him as a failure and was giving up on him. "I haven't fought you – I've done every damn thing you've told me to do."

"Everything, Dean?" She let out a cynical laugh as she gestured toward the chair. "Alright," she pursed her lips and gave a curt nod, "take a seat, an' we'll see just how well you've listen to everything I've told you to do."

Reluctantly Dean did as she had asked. Monica crouched beside him and removed his prosthetic leg, followed by the thick padded cushioning and ply sock. Laying the items on the floor, she pressed her fingertips against his knee, and he involuntarily jerked away from her.

"I showed you how to massage and desensitize your leg, and told you it was important to do it every two hours for at least fifteen minutes throughout the day," she said with a condemning stare, not about to buy any excuse he might try to make as to why he hadn't done as she had prescribed. "I was pretty damn clear in saying it would interfere with your use of a prosthesis if you didn't. But apparently you know a whole helluva lot more than I do as you haven't seen fit to even try it."

"My leg's fine." Anger welled inside of Dean, hating that she was now treating him like a child who couldn't make decisions for himself. "I'm standing on it, an' would be walking if you'd stop reminding me how I'm doing it wrong every goddamn minute."

"No, you wouldn't be, Dean," she argued, raising her voice as she motioned to the parallel bars. "I can see how much pain you're in when you're standing for any length of time. I can tell by the way you're leaning heavily to the right that it hurts to keep any weight on your left leg. So lie to yourself if that's what you wanna do, but I'm not so easily fooled."

Monica heaved a weary sigh as she began to gently massage Dean's knee. Her features soften as he allowed her to take care of the one thing he had been unwilling to do himself. Every time he looked at the space where his lower leg had been, he was reminded that he was now less of a person. But if he didn't have to actually touch his knee, it didn't have to be real to him. And sometimes when he could feel the phantom pain in his missing foot, he almost could believe his leg was still there. To do as she had asked would be admitting to himself that he was a useless cripple who was desperately clinging to the hope that he could hunt again.

"I know what happened to you wasn't fair," she began in a soft tone that was as close to sympathetic as he had ever heard from her. "An' you probably hate me an' the whole damn world at the moment, so if it makes you feel better to take that anger out on me, go right ahead. I've been called a lot worse in the past." She grabbed a clean cloth off the chair beside the parallel bars and gently rubbed it over the bottom of his knee. "But I can't sit here and pretend like I don't see what you're doing." She took hold of his hand and guided it toward the lower half of his leg. He tensed as she placed his hand on his knee and covered it with her own. "It doesn't make you any less of a person, Dean. It doesn't take away all your accomplishments, and doesn't mean you aren't meant to do even greater things with your life."

Skin crawling at the feel of the rounded area where his lower leg use to be, Dean jerked his hand free of hers. "You don't know the first thing about me. I can't do great things like this." He splayed out his arms, gesturing at the wheelchair and his leg. "I can't even walk, so how the hell am I supposed to protect my brother like this?"

"So you're giving up?" She eyed him for a moment as if she couldn't believe she had wasted her time trying to help him. A cynical laugh slipped past her parted lips as she shook her head in disgust. "Damn, Hank was really wrong about you. He thought you were special, and you've certainly proved him wrong."

Dean scowled at the thought of the man who had saved his life only to leave him a helpless cripple, and wished with all his heart that the rescuer hadn't found him in time. "He doesn't know the first thing about me or how I can't do my job with only one leg. So I don't give a flyin' fuck about what he thinks of me."

Monica's blue eyes turned dark and turbulent as she glared at him. She abruptly stood and turned her back on him. "Right, cause you're the only one in the world who's ever had bad things happen to them. Huh, Dean?" Her voice rose in anger, and as Dean glanced around he noticed that everyone in the room was once again staring at them.

"Can you lower your damn voice," he hissed, his own anger now reaching the boiling point. "I'm sick of being a fuckin' sideshow freak for every damn person in this room."

"If you wanna stop being a freak then stop acting like one," Monica countered as she swung to face him. "No one here is judging you. No one cares what you do or how much harder you think you have it than anyone else. They're all in pain for one reason or another, an' are doing the best they can to overcome the obstacles life's set in their path."

"What? You want me to feel sorry for them?" Narrowing his eyes on her, he made a sweeping gesture around the room to encompass all the patients working on various pieces of equipment, and shook his head. "Well, I'm afraid I'm just fresh out of sympathy for anyone at the moment."

"Alright, Dean," Monica said with a tight-lipped smile, and motioned for the other physical therapists to resume working with their patients as she snatched his prosthesis off the floor and shoved it into his hands. Taking hold of the handles of Dean's wheelchair, she pushed him toward the entrance. "You don't wanna be here with them, that's fine. I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do."

"I still have time left," Dean snarled, glancing over his shoulder at her, but she kept her sights firmly on the door. Slamming his right foot down hard against the floor, he braced himself as the wheelchair came to a skidding halt. "I said, I still have time left, and I'm not going anywhere until I'm walking."

"No," Monica snapped, "you were finished the moment you thought that your injuries took precedence over anyone else in this room. You want people to pity you, well congratulations, you got your wish."

With shoulders sagging, Dean took one last glance around the room, memorizing the looks on each and every face, and then lifted his foot off the floor. "Jus' take me back to my room," he managed to choke out through the thick lump that had formed in his throat.

Monica pushed the wheelchair out of the Physical Therapy Room, and headed down the long corridor, but instead taking a right toward the elevator she took a left turn, and continued onward through the children's wing of the hospital. She stopped at a set of double doors, and pressed the button to enter. Dean's eyes widened considerably when he read Hartford's Children's Therapy Center painted in red on the glass.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"I call this my baby steps program designed especially for hard heads like Hank and you," Monica replied, and he could hear something akin to humor in her tone.

"I'm not going in there," Dean balked, not about to make a fool out of himself in front of little kids. "Take me back to my damn room now."

Monica came around to stand in front of Dean and crouched beside him. She looked up into his eyes, and he could see that her own eyes held no humor, but instead found profound sadness in them. "When Hank's wife died, she was not more than fifteen feet away from him, but with his leg trapped beneath a boulder, he couldn't get to her. He could hear her crying from beneath the snow, and see the fringe from her scarf, but there was nothing he could do to help her." She drew in a staggering breath as she wiped away the moisture that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "Within a few minutes her cries died away, an' he could do nothing but wait until rescuers found him about twenty minutes later. He hated them for saving him, and he hated me for wanting to help him when he had failed to protect the one person he loved more than anything else in the whole world."

Dean's thoughts immediately went to Sam, and how he would feel if it were his little brother who had died and he was helpless to stop it from happening. His stomach flip-flopped out of control, and for the first time he stopped feeling sorry for himself and felt grateful that both he and Sam had survived.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I could pity you if that's what you wanted, Dean – hell you're practically the poster boy for pleasepityme(dot)com at the moment, so it would be pretty damn easy. Or I can try to help you if you'll let me. The choice is yours." Monica paused to take hold of his hand. His gut reaction was to jerk away from her, but to do so would be admitting he was exactly what she claimed. He gripped hold of her hand as if it were his only lifeline, and for the first time in his life, he put his well-being in someone else's hands. With a tender smile, she acknowledged the trust he had just placed in her. "Good, now let's go tackle those parallel bars."


	13. Chapter 13

_I'm sorry about the long delay, I broke my arm snowboarding which sucked out loud. So not only did it end my hockey season and skiing early, but made it really hard to write with only one hand. I just got my cast off this week, so I should be posting in a reasonable amount of time now. Seth_

_ Chapter Thirteen_

Bobby stood outside of Sam and Dean's hospital room with a folded newspaper in hand and head lowered. A buried article on the third page of the local section was what had brought him to the hospital, and the fear of facing the two remaining Winchesters again was what kept him from entering the room.

"_I won't do it." _Bobby could hear Sam's voice clear in his mind, the sad desolation of it bring tears to the old hunter's eyes._ "I won't be the one to take his leg from him. I won't."_

"_He's dying, Sam." _He swallowed hard, recalling how the words he had spoken cut deep into his own heart even as they shattered Sam's. There was no denying that Sam had made the right decision, just as there was no denying that the youngest Winchester would never forgive Bobby for forcing him to be the one to make it._"If they don't remove his leg soon, the infection will spread through his body, an' it will kill him."_

"_H-how am I suppose to tell him that I'm the one who took his leg from him?" _Bobby swallowed hard, remembering how amidst his broken sadness for both Sam and Dean, he felt an undeniable twinge of relief that he hadn't been the one forced to make the decision to have the doctors take Dean's leg from him._ "How's he ever gonna forgive me for that?" _

"_He'll forgive you, Sam – he'll forgive you because he loves you."_

"_How can he when I'll never be able to forgive myself for this." _Sam had shrugged free of Bobby's grasp on his arm, and from the look in his eyes, Bobby realized that he was pushing him out of his life as well._ "Get the paperwork, Bobby." _

His hand trembled as he laid it against the door, stomach churning at the thought of seeing the hatred in both boys' eyes, and he turned away from the entrance. "Even if they can somehow manage to get beyond this, an' Dean forgives Sam, they'll never forgive me," Bobby muttered under his breath.

Uncharacteristically, he had the urge to run, to return to the safety of his home where he could pretend that this was all just a terrible nightmare. If he didn't have to face them, he could pretend that nothing had changed, and that they wouldn't think of him differently. For as much as he believed they were his family, the ties created by hunting could only go so deep, and Bobby had little doubt that those bonds had been irrevocably severed when Dean lost his leg.

_I shouldn't bother them. _He glanced down at the newspaper in his hand, and heaved a weary sigh. _But what if they didn't kill the Wendigo an' it goes on killing people? _

After a lengthy hesitation, in which he mulled over every possible reason in the world not to bother Winchesters with what could be just purely coincidental missing person reports, Bobby turned back and pushed open the door to their room. Through lowered lashes, he noticed Dean was not there, and caught himself before he let out a sigh of relief.

Sam straightened in his bed, and closing his laptop, he focused his attention on Bobby. From his rigid posture and the scarcely concealed look of anger that etched his brow, Bobby understood that his presence was unwelcome. His hand tightened around the newspaper, crumpling it within his grasp.

"I thought you went home." The accusation in Sam's tone cut deeper than any knife wound Bobby had ever received. "You should've gone home."

Bobby pulled the brim of his cap lower to cover his eyes in hopes that Sam wouldn't see how much his words had sliced right though his heart. "Figured I'd stick around until you both were well enough to travel back to my place."

"We're staying here until Dean's ready to hunt again." Sam's sights strayed to the empty bed belonging to his brother, and swallowing hard, he added, "So there's no reason for you to stay."

"What do you mean, until Dean's ready to hunt again?" Bobby had never even considered the possibility that the Winchesters would resume hunting. The job was hard enough when a hunter had no medical limitations, but to his way of thinking, it was practically suicidal to think they could fight creatures under these circumstances. "It's not worth it. You're both gonna get yourselves killed."

"It's not like every damn hunter doesn't already know that they're eventually gonna die hunting," Sam shot back, voice rising just enough to leave Bobby with little doubt that the youngest Winchester had his own fears and doubts about Dean hunting. "It's what Dean wants, an' I owe him that much."

"An' if he wanted to jump the Impala over the Grand Canyon, would you be okay with that, too?"

"It's not the same thing an' you know it." Sam folded his arms, and glared defiantly at Bobby. "He's a damn good hunter – probably the best there is, so if he thinks he can do this, I have no doubt that he will."

"But what if he can't?" Bobby hated being the voice of reason, hated being the one to tell Sam that things could never be the same again, but he couldn't let them recklessly destroy the lives they had left. "It's time you both gave up hunting, an' start having real lives of your own."

"Just giving up would kill him a helluva lot faster than it would take for all the demons in Hell to do the same thing."

The truth in Sam's words struck Bobby momentarily speechless. He had never met another hunter who had put his whole heart and soul into the job the way Dean did. The eldest Winchester lived and breathed to protect people. He had never given any thought to himself, and gave of himself until many times there was nothing left to give. And in those times, he dug even deeper and through sheer willpower alone gave whatever he had left.

"I still say you should talk to him, make him see that he can do something else with his life."

Sam's jaw practically dropped wide open as he glared at Bobby. "Oh, that's a great idea, Bobby. I've already taken his leg from him, why not fuck up the rest of his life as well. Maybe I should tell him to get a desk job somewhere, I'm sure he'd really go for that brilliant plan."

"He has other options, Sam," Bobby hastily defended himself. "Dean's a helluva lot smarter than people give him credit for."

"If this is the only thing you came here to talk about, you might as well leave before he gets back here, cause he wouldn't be any happier to see you than I am."

Bobby lowered his head, not wanting to see the intense hatred in the youngest Winchester's eyes. "No, it's not the only reason I came." With a heavy sigh, he trudged to the hospital bed and handed Sam the paper. "A woman went missing shortly after Dean . . . ." Bobby's voice abruptly trailed off, not certain this was the best time to bring up the missing girl or his fears about the Wendigo. "It could just be a coincidence, but I need to know for sure."

Sam flipped through the paper until he found the article, and hastily scanned it. Abruptly throwing the paper aside, he glanced up at Bobby with a look of clear disbelief written plainly across his features. "I saw it die, Bobby. It burned up right in front of my eyes, so there's no way in hell this is related."

"I would've thought so as well, but she isn't the only one who's gone missing." Bobby fished around in the pocket of his jacket, and yanked out two more newspaper clippings. "I went to the library and found these. One happened a day or so after the accident."

Sam opened his mouth to further argue, but the door suddenly swung open, and Bobby spun to stare at Dean, hobbling into the room with the assistance of a walker. A dark-haired woman followed closely behind him, and once inside the room, she shuffled passed him to lower the bed rails on his hospital bed.

After hearing Sam's revelation that Dean planned to continue hunting, Bobby hastily pocketed the newspaper clippings so he wouldn't see them. If both Winchesters had a death wish, he had no intention of giving them the ammunition to load the gun.

"Bobby," Dean acknowledged him with a short nod. "I was wonderin' if you'd show up before I left this God forsaken place," he grumbled, but there was no look of anger in his green eyes as he smiled at Bobby.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to come," Bobby answered truthfully, careful to keep his gaze at eye level with Dean.

"You're family, Bobby, of course you're welcome." Dean glanced at Sam, and his brave smile faltered. Under his scrutinizing glare, Sam quickly ducked his head, and went back to working on his laptop. "What were you two talking about when I walked in?"

"It was nothing," Sam uttered evasively, without looking up from his computer screen.

Eying Bobby for a moment, Dean appeared as if he were trying to decide whether they were keeping something from him, but after a second his smile returned. He pushed aside the walker, and took a cautious step toward Bobby, but as he went to take a second step, he teetered and fell forward into Bobby.

"Dean." The raven-haired physical therapist rushed forward to help him back to his feet.

"No!" Dean held up a hand to stop her from coming any closer. "I've got this, Monica," he breathed in a harsh raspy whisper. Bracing his hands against Bobby's forearms, he used them as leverage to push himself back into a standing position.

"You're pushing yourself too hard, Dean," Monica snapped. "I knew I shouldn't have agreed to let you walk back here."

"M'okay, Monica," Dean huffed, pushing her hands away as she tried to help him back to his bed. "An' I told you, I could make it back here without you following me. An' look," he added sarcastically, "I only fell once which is a brand new record for me."

"An' I clearly told you that I didn't care whether you thought you could walk all the way to Canada, I was still coming with you," Monica replied with a grin, not the least bit intimated by Dean's menacing scowl.

"Well, you did your fuckin' job," he growled, hands clenching into fists as she guided him toward his bed. "I made it here in once piece, so you can leave now."

"Not until I see you in bed like you promised."

Bobby stared incredulously at the pretty young girl, amazed and impressed that she wasn't the least bit offended by Dean's obvious dislike of her. But what surprised him even more was that Dean, albeit grudgingly, listened to her.

"You know I'm leaving here the day after tomorrow," Dean grumbled as he let her help him remove his prosthesis. "So you have to stop trying to catch me when I fall – An' truthfully, I 'd rather slam my face into the ground a million times than be so damn helpless that I have to have someone there to help me stand on my own two feet."

"Everyone needs help sometime, Dean, and that even includes a pain in the ass like yourself," Monica shot back, blue eyes sparkling with fierce determination as she fixed her sights on Dean. "But if you're so hellbent on falling on your face a million times once you get out of here, then I'd suggest you get yourself a well-stocked first-aid kit."

Monica must have realized that both Bobby and Sam were now staring at her with somewhat awed expressions on their faces. She chose that moment to turn and grace them with a completely disarming smile. Smoothing a hand through her hair, she pushed back the wispy tendrils that had fallen loose from her ponytail, composing herself. "Don't worry," she chuckled, waving a hand in Dean's direction, "he's used to me being a bitch by now, an' secretly I think he kinda likes it. It makes him feel justified when he calls me . . . what was that you called me again, Dean?"

"Bitchzilla," Dean uttered sheepishly, not bothering to raise his head to look at anyone in the room.

"So we've compromised," she went on to say as she made her way toward the door. "He let's me tell him like it is, and in turn, I let him call me all those cute little nicknames he keeps coming up with." With her hand on the door handle, she paused and cast a meaningful glance in Dean's direction. "Since tomorrow's your last day, I was thinking we should tackle walking up inclines, and after that I thought we could go for a walk outside . . . maybe practice walking on uneven terrain, if you want to."

"Sure, if you let me use a cane instead of that stupid walker," Dean groused, but the small grin that lit up his features belied his attempt at sounding angry.

Bobby watched the look that passed between them, and silently cursed under his breath. The last thing Dean needed at the moment was someone who would become attached to him as it was only a matter of time before he moved on. "I think I'd better get going as well," Bobby said, heading toward the door. "If ya want, I can swing by here an' pick you both up on Friday."

"We don't need a ride," Sam answered curtly.

"Hank's gonna pick us up," Dean added, casting a glance in Sam's direction, and shook his head in what looked to be clear disgust. "But I'd really appreciate it if you would bring my car to his place."

"Yeah, alright." Bobby looked once more to Sam, hoping he might see some sign that he might relent in his anger, but he kept his head lowered, pretending to be engrossed in whatever research he was studying. Without another word, he pushed open the door and left.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean waited until he was certain Sam was asleep before he pulled out the crumpled pieces of newspaper he had snatched out of Bobby's pocket when he had pretended to stumble. He hated tricking the older hunter, but both him and Sam were hiding something from him, and he damn sure was going to find out what it was.

Flipping on the small overhead light, he smoothed out the two articles and read them. His stomach twisted into knots after reading through both of them twice. Everything had seemed to happen so fast, but he was certain he saw the Wendigo go up in flames before the avalanche dragged him down the hill. But now as he stared at the news clippings in his hands he wasn't so sure. If Bobby brought them for Sam to look at, he obviously realized there was more to both stories than two people mysteriously disappearing. And if Bobby thought it, Sam sure as hell must have had some doubt as to whether he really had killed the Wendigo.

For all his little brother's talk of them hunting again, he had kept this a secret because he really didn't believe that Dean would ever be able to hunt anymore. Anger surged though him as he glared through blurred vision at his useless left leg, and then shifted his sights to Sam. "Sam, wake the hell up," he shouted, not caring if it was the middle of the night or if anyone else could hear him.

Startled awake, Sam shot straight up in his bed, and glanced wildly about the room, looking for any signs of danger. Once he had determined there was no immediate threat, his wary gaze settled on Dean. "What the – " the words died abruptly on his lips when Dean waved the two pieces of paper in his direction. "It – it's not what you think, Dean. I killed that Wendigo. You saw him die yourself . . . those three people – "

"Three!" Dean's anger exploded. "Three people are missing – are probably dead, and you thought to keep it from me cause you think I'm a fuckin' cripple!"

"That's not true, Dean, an' you know it," Sam tried to defend himself, but couldn't quite meet Dean's steely gaze. "People go missing all the time, an' I just didn't think these three had anything to do with us."

"Well, Bobby certainly seemed to think so, an' right now I'd take his opinion on the matter a helluva lot more than I would listen to yours." Dean threw the articles on the bedside table, and pushed himself forward in his bed. "I believed you, Sam – I believed all that crap you threw at me about Carl Brashear, but you don't even have the smallest amount of faith in me."

"You're making this all about you, and it's not," Sam snapped, his own voice now rising to match Dean's. "I killed that fuckin' Wendigo. You saw it go in flames with your own goddamn eyes. But I knew damn well that you'd somehow twist it around in your head to be my fault, so I kept it from you. But I swear to God, it had nothing to do with your leg."

"So what your saying is that you thought this is some sort of odd coincidence?" Dean sneered, a bitter laugh erupting from deep within him. "When has anything ever been just a coincidence where we're concerned, little brother? It's always connected. You know it," he jabbed an index finger toward Sam, who flinched as if Dean had punched him in the gut, and then pointed at himself, "an' so do I."

"It really doesn't matter if it's our kind of problem or not, Dean, cause we're not hunting it." Sam uttered with a firm shake of his head. "My leg's in a cast for at least another month. An' you . . . well, let's jus' say I don't think you could really outrun whatever this thing is using a walker." Instant regret filled Sam's face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he made no attempt to smooth things over with what Dean would know to be a lie.

"I don't have to outrun it, I just have to outsmart it. And just because I left my fuckin' leg up there on that damn mountain, doesn't mean I left my brains up there like you did. I can be a hunter again, Sam. Maybe not like I was before, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to give up. So that means you either have to support me or just stay the hell out of my way."


End file.
